


Three Of A Kind

by oscarwildee (oscarwildebabe)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV), Joker (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Brotherly Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Comfort, Crimes & Criminals, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multi, Non-Canonical Character Death, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partners in Crime, Psychological Trauma, Repressed Memories, Spoilers for Joker (2019), Suicidal Thoughts, there's both, very very brief but im adding a tag anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-04 22:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21205031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oscarwildebabe/pseuds/oscarwildee
Summary: He started into the alley, opening up the bag he was carrying and rifling through as he belatedly remembered his mailbox and apartment keys were still inside. Again, not much, and easily replaced, but it would still be an inconvenience if they were stolen. Particularly now, when all he wanted was to get back home after what had felt like a terribly long day.He was so preoccupied that he didn’t notice the little boy standing in the middle of the alleyway until he nearly walked straight into him.(Arthur Fleck meets two young circus runaways, taking them under his wing to protect them from the dangers of the city, and they begin to grow up in the shadow of the man destined to become Gotham's most feared symbol of crime. Gotham/Joker 2019 crossover fic.)





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo my brain decided to create this idea at 2 in the morning the other night, and I kind of sort of liked it, so here we are! I haven't written a real crossover fic before, so I'll see how this goes...hopefully it'll be a fun read for anyone interested! :)

** Chapter One**

The roar of the subway trailed off into a low rumble as the final train car disappeared into the inky blackness of the tunnel, winding around a sharp corner and out of sight. Gothamites crowded the platform, moving in one motion toward the exits of the station as litter and garbage fluttered low to the ground, disrupted by the air flow the train had caused.

Arthur stepped aside, shoulders hunched, as hordes of businessmen and office workers flooded past him, their suits spotted with the grime and dust that hung in the air and coated every available surface of the subway station, as well as the inside of the train itself. Some of them were speaking to one another, voices fighting to be the loudest in the bustling station, while others stared stoically ahead, clutching their briefcases with a sort of resigned determination, knowing they would get home, go to sleep, then wake up in the morning and live this hellishly monotonous life all over again, day by day.

Arthur knew that that was like. Even if he wasn’t exactly one of _them, _and his job didn’t exactly require _that_ type of fancy suit, he knew what it was like.

The corners of his mouth nervously quirked upwards, and he ducked his head, holding his breath to stifle the laugh that burned in the back of his throat. Even in the commotion around him, he knew a slip-up like that would turn heads, and right now, all he wanted to do was to get home.

He started up the pitted concrete steps leading to the subway entrance on the street, keeping his eyes fixed stoically on the ground as he moved along with the crowd.This particular stop got off only a few minutes away from his apartment, but it seemed to take hours to make his way through the swarm of faceless people around him milling about. He quickened his pace, clutching the bag filled with props from work close to his chest. Still dressed in his clown outfit from earlier in the day, he knew he was hard to miss, but Arthur was good at staying out of sight when he wanted to, and today was one of those days. All it took was a staunch avoidance of eye contact with anyone around, coupled with a purposeful stride to indicate that he wasn’t going to stop and talk.

He’d watched plenty of businessmen on the street do the exact same thing time and time again, and had learned to copy their movements to the letter.

The crowds had begun to thin out as he stepped outside, breathing in the cold, smoke-tinged air of the outdoors. Faint beams from grease-spotted street lights illuminated the late afternoon cityscape, and an icy wind blew by, catching the coattails of the houndstooth blazer Arthur was wearing, not having bothered switching out his work costume for street clothes before leaving. Shivering, he turned the corner that led into an alley, knowing it would be a shortcut to his apartment, as well as a reprise from the driving wind. The high brick walls on either side of the narrow street cast long shadows across the ground, and Arthur hesitated at the entrance. 

He’d been jumped in plenty of alleys before, spotted as an easy target by anyone watching, and this particular alley looked like a prime spot for being attacked. For a moment, he contemplated turning around and going home his usual route, on the sidewalk parallel to the main road, where he had fewer chances of being dragged off and all his belongings stolen…but then, all he had with him today was a satchel full of clown props. It wasn’t payday, and he didn’t own anything valuable that he would carry with him.

If anyone tried to take his things, they wouldn’t get away with much.

So he started into the alley, opening up the bag he was carrying and rifling through as he belatedly remembered his mailbox and apartment keys were still inside. Again, not much, and easily replaced, but it would still be an inconvenience if they were stolen. Particularly now, when all he wanted was to get back home after what had felt like a terribly long day.

He was so preoccupied that he didn’t notice the little boy standing in the middle of the alleyway until he nearly walked straight into him.

Arthur stumbled back, startled at the sight of the small figure, who backed away from him equally hurriedly. In the dim light of the alley, he could see the boy staring at him with wide, frightened eyes, magnified behind thick-lensed glasses that were too big for his face. His curly red hair was ruffled from the wind that howled above them, and he was cradling his left arm close to his chest as he watched Arthur silently. The latter noticed he was trembling, and wondered if it was from surprise or the cold.

Either way, he decided, he wasn’t going to leave a little kid to fend for himself in this part of the city. In _any _part of the city, really…this was Gotham, after all, and it would be a death sentence to let a mere child try and last more than a day on these streets. Slowly, trying not to spook the kid any further, Arthur set his satchel on the ground, listening to the props clink against one another inside, and crouched down until he was at the other’s eye level.

“Hey.” 

He cleared his throat as a nervous laugh caught at the edges of the single word. That was the last thing he needed right now…having a breakdown like that in front of this kid who already looked scared out of his wits. But he couldn’t help it; after all, he really was concerned, and he didn’t know what to do with children. 

_Half your job is spent entertaining kids. You should have some idea, stupid._

He shook his head, trying to ignore that voice in his thoughts that never tired of berating him for the simplest of things. This wasn't the time…he had more important things to think about. 

Waiting until the urge to laugh had dissipated, he spoke up again.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” Although he kept his voice soft, the boy flinched at the words and backed further away. Arthur frowned, reaching out a hand cautiously toward him. “Hey, you’re okay. I don’t…” His half-formed reassurance went ignored, and he could see tears beginning to well up in the other’s eyes. His small shoulders were hunched and he refused to look at Arthur, staring intently at the ground instead. He was still shaking, and Arthur bit his lip uncertainly, wondering what to do now. He didn’t blame the kid for being scared—_he _certainly would have been, if he’d found himself in the same situation—but he was trying so hard to be as nonthreatening as possible, and it didn’t seem to be doing any good.

Momentarily stumped for a solution, Arthur watched as the boy glanced appraisingly at his left arm, which he still kept securely pressed to his chest. The former noticed a shallow but jagged-looking scratch running from his wrist to the middle of his forearm, and took a small step closer.

“You, um, you want me to take a look at that for you?” he asked uncertainly, and the boy’s gaze finally darted up to meet his as he shook his head vehemently. He still didn't make a sound, but the stark terror in his expression was enough to make Arthur retreat back another step.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He held up his hands to show he wasn’t going to make any sudden moves. Despite his bafflement at the situation, he was finding quickly that he could read the boy’s emotions fairly well. And he knew what to do in response to not scare him away completely…maybe he wasn’t so bad at figuring this out. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

_Yeah, that’ll really go over well with him._

“Can you at least tell me your name?” he tried again, feeling just as nervous as the boy looked. “I just want you to—”

“Get _away _from him!”

Arthur half-turned around, just in time to see a small blur of motion hurtle straight into him, sending both of them crashing back against the alley wall. His eyes shut at the impact, and when he opened them, he caught sight of the newcomer disentangling itself from his grasp. His expression became incredulous, and his eyes darted back and forth between the first boy and the one who had just arrived.

It was like he was staring at two mirror images of one another. Identical blue-green eyes watching him, set in nearly indistinguishably similar faces (the only difference he could define at the moment was the pair of oversized glasses the first boy was wearing) with the exact same shade of red hair. The threadbare blue sweaters they were wearing were identical as well, and, Arthur realized when they stood shoulder-to-shoulder, they were nearly the exact same height.

For a moment, he wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him, as it sometimes had a tendency to do.

But then the second boy, the one who had just attempted to tackle him to the ground, spoke up, one hand closing protectively around his brother’s—_twins, they’re identical twins, _his brain supplied, and he stifled a sigh of relief that _that _matter was cleared up—wrist. “_Don’t _touch him.” the boy said fiercely, and the other, the one who had yet to say a single word aloud, inched even closer to him. “Or you’re gonna regret it.”

Arthur gave him a doubtful smile, not bothering to argue the point no matter how much of an empty threat the boy’s words were. “Don’t worry, I…”

“I mean it.” Despite the bravado on the newly introduced redhead’s face, Arthur could see genuine fear shining in his eyes, and his grip on his brother was not only protective, but frightened as well. “Stay away from us.”

“Listen,” Arthur began reasonably, although he had no reasonable suggestions to make or courses of action to follow. It didn’t matter in any case, because he was interrupted yet again by the same boy of the two, who had turned to his twin and was looking over him carefully.

“Did he hurt you, Miah?” His voice was suddenly much softer, and every attempt at being threatening was gone. Arthur watched them both, relieved when the other boy shook his head, and wondered what he could possibly say to either of them. He had no idea what to do, but he knew with equal certainty that he couldn’t leave them here. Gotham was no place for children to be wandering around alone, especially in this part of town. And it was nearly nighttime in late-autumn weather…they would freeze to death if they didn’t find some place to stay.

A beginning of a plan was starting to form, but Arthur wasn’t sure about it. It was an instinctive thought to bring them both home to his mother’s apartment with him, but she would have too many questions, and certainly wouldn't want two young children running around uninvited.

Besides, something deeply hidden in the furthest recesses of his mind sent a whisper of unease into the middle of his thoughts.

_Don’t bring them to her…_

Arthur flinched when a blurred image crossed behind his eyelids in his mind’s eye, too quickly for him to make out. It was gone half a second later, and he had no idea what it had been, but he’d heard something like laughter in the back of his mind, and for him, that never meant anything good.

Besides, his therapist always told him that it was important to go with his intuition on important matters. And this _was _important.

But if he couldn’t take them home, where could they go?

_She’ll be asleep by the time you’re back at the apartment, _his thoughts reminded him. _And you can figure out the rest in the morning._

Arthur turned back to the twins, still standing in the middle of the alley. The newest arrival had finished giving his brother an appraising once-over, and was currently giving Arthur a glare that could melt iron, if he wasn’t all of eight or nine years old and utterly unthreatening.

“Why were you talking to him?” he asked, still holding onto his twin in an unbreakable grip. Arthur, who knew better by this point than to get any closer, took a small step back.

“I was worried he was out here all by himself.” he explained, and they looked at one another, saying nothing. “Neither of you should be out here on your own.”

“We’re fine.” His voice wavered, and Arthur didn’t bother to look convinced. The twin who hadn’t spoken yet, the one with the glasses, shivered, and his brother leaned closer to him.

“Are you lost?” Arthur asked, already knowing the answer would be no. If they were lost, wouldn’t they have been looking for someone to help them find their parents? No, there was something else going on here, and he couldn’t figure out what. Really, he didn’t _need _to figure it out…what was more important was making sure they wouldn’t be left out on the street for the night, where anything could happen to them.

“I said we’re fine.” A note of defensiveness had crept into the boy’s voice, and Arthur could see he was becoming more nervous. 

“I promise I’m not going to hurt you.” The sincerity in his words must have been strong enough to be heard, because the boy’s expression became microscopically less scared, and his brother didn’t seem to be on the verge of running off anymore. Hoping they could continue like this, Arthur added, “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to be alone out here.”

“We’ll be okay.” There was a heart-wrenching childlike confidence to the boy’s words, underscored with the lurking worry Arthur had seen in his eyes. His gaze darted to his brother, who was pushing his glasses up onto his face before twisting his hands nervously together. “’s long as you didn’t do anything to him.”

“I didn’t.” He paused for a moment, then added. “He had that scratch on his arm before I got here.”

“Yeah, I know. He was tryin’ to pick up a cat.” The boy scoffed, but Arthur could tell he was worried, and his expression softened at the protective instincts both twins seemed to hold for one another. “That’s why I wasn’t _here, _‘cause I was looking for something he could clean it up with, but then _you _came up and scared him—”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to scare him. This is just the way I get back to my apartment.” he tried to explain. 

“Why’d you talk to him, then?”

“I told you, both of you shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“We’re not alone, we got each other.”

“Listen,” Arthur bent down to the twins’ eye level again, his expression completely serious, “Gotham is a dangerous city. I’m not going to tell you what could happen, because I don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t want you to ever have to know.” He cleared his throat to hold back nervous laughter. “You both have two options here, okay?” He was making this up as he went, and he knew the two young boys likely could tell as much, but he didn’t really care. It was the most he could do for them, and he could only hope they would accept his offer. “You could stay here alone, out in the city, and try to fend for yourselves.” Just saying the words made his stomach twist. “Or I’ll let you stay at my mother’s apartment for the night, until I—until we can figure out where you should go.”

“Why would you do that?” the redhead asked suspiciously. His brother glanced at him, glasses fogged up from the tears that were drying on face. “You don’t know us.”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt out here.”

“But _why?”_

“Because…” Arthur shook his head, trying to phrase his thoughts aloud, “You need someone to make sure you’re safe.”

“No, we don’t.”

“What about your brother?” he countered, not missing the immediate shift in the boy’s demeanor. The way his blue eyes clouded with darkness and a nervous pallor swept across his face, making the freckles on his cheeks and nose stand out. 

“What do you mean?”

“There’s two of you.” Arthur said slowly, letting his gaze drift back and forth between both twins. “If it was just one, then you might be fine. Because you only would need to look out for yourself. But there’s _two _of you…wouldn’t you feel bad if something happened to one, and the other one was left all alone?” He was speaking to both of them now, and they were staring at him with wide eyes. He felt horrible for trying to scare them like this, but it was his last resort. If there was no other way to keep them safe, then this was the route he would have to take.

They were all three silent for a long moment, so long that it seemed to stretch into hours. A siren rose in the distance, and police lights flashed by the alley, sending red and blue beams across their faces. 

_If they still say no, there’s nothing you can do._

Finally, the boy who had been the one speaking before glanced at his twin, who gave him a tiny, uncertain nod. He turned to Arthur, who waited wordlessly for an answer, biting down on his lip nervously as the consensus hung in the silence between them.

“Okay.” It was a single, quiet word, but Arthur smiled when he heard it, his eyes lighting up in relief as he unclenched his hands from the nervous fists they had been balled into. He gave them both a reassuring nod, standing up straight and motioning for them to follow him before they could change their minds and disappear into the maze of depravity that was Gotham.

“Okay.”

\+ + + + + + +

“My name’s Jerome.” The redhead, the one who had taken up the task of speaking for the both of them, looked up at Arthur from where he was hurrying along at his side. His twin was on his other side, and poked his head around to follow the former’s gaze. “And my brother’s Jeremiah.”

“It’s nice to meet you both.” Arthur was beginning to wonder if Jerome was the only one out of the two who would ever speak to him. He didn't have time to think on the matter much longer, because the apartment building loomed up in front of them, just as the first raindrops began to fall from the darkening sky. “We’re here.”

“This is your house?” Jerome’s eyes were as wide as saucers as he stared up at the nine-story-building, and Arthur laughed softly.

“Not the entire thing. Just one apartment.”

“What’s an apartment?”

He blinked in surprise, but answered, “It’s like a house, but smaller. You can fit a lot of them into one building, like this one.”

“Oh.” Jerome stopped asking questions, and Arthur noticed his brother giving him a warning look. 

Once they were inside and Arthur had checked the mailbox (empty as always), they got into the rickety elevator and he pressed the button for the fourth floor. The moment the elevator started moving, Jeremiah clung on tightly to Jerome, who stared at the wall of buttons, mouth hanging open.

Neither of them asked a single question, but Arthur didn’t need them to tell him they’d never been on an elevator before. He was beginning to wonder exactly where they were from, and how they had ended up in Gotham City.

He paused outside the apartment door once the elevator had stopped and they’d made their way down the hall, turning to the twins who stood behind him, holding hands tightly. “Remember, I need you to be as quiet as you can. Just until I can…” he paused for a moment, covering his mouth as a laugh brimmed on his lips, _keep it together, you can't scare them away,_ “…until I let my mother know about you two. Or we figure out somewhere for you to go.” His words were hoarse as he tried to stave off the pained laughter, but neither of them seemed to notice. Jerome was looking at the patterns on the splintered wood floor of the hall, and Jeremiah was counting the apartment addresses next to each door, mouth moving as he whispered the numbers to himself. “Okay?”

They nodded in unison, and Arthur gave them a wan smile. “Okay.” As quietly as possible, he unlocked the door, and stepped aside for them to enter.

Once inside, the twins stopped, staring at their surroundings. Arthur gently nudged them further inside the door, enough for him to shut it behind them, and flicked on the kitchen light. To his relief, his mother’s bedroom door was closed and there wasn’t any light coming from underneath it, meaning she was likely fast asleep. Just one more hurdle averted…for him, this was a surprisingly successful endeavor so far.

“Jeremiah?” he asked, hoping he’d gotten the name right (it didn’t help that they looked all but identical _and _had exasperatingly similar names). The twin with the glasses looked up at him, and Arthur smiled, relieved that he could at least remember which one was which. “How’s your arm?”

The boy shrugged, ghosting his fingers across the abrasion from the cat claw he’d allegedly come in contact with, wincing at the touch as he continued to avoid eye contact. Arthur motioned for him to sit down on the sofa, and Jeremiah reluctantly followed him, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder at Jerome, who had disappeared into the tiny kitchen. Arthur joined him, sitting in the armchair next to the sofa and leaning over the side, gently taking the boy’s arm in one hand and glancing at the narrow cut. “Does it hurt?”

Jeremiah remained stubbornly silent, but Arthur could see fresh tears gathering in his eyes behind his glasses, and although he didn’t try to pull away from the other’s grasp, Arthur could feel every muscle in his small arm painfully tensed. He was trembling again, and his breath hitched in his chest as tears began to slide down his face. Reaching up with his free hand to brush them away, he sniffled, and Arthur stared, perplexed, wondering helplessly what he was going to do. Sometimes at work, when the kids didn’t like his act at gigs or birthday parties, their parents would always comfort them or tell them to cheer up, there was nothing to be scared of. But there were no parents around to pass the responsibility on to now, and he was utterly helpless.

“Hey, no, no, don’t cry, you’re okay…” He backed away uncertainly, feeling a tortured, nervous laugh catching in his throat. _Don’t. _“You’re okay, I’m not…”

“It’s ‘cause of your clown makeup.” Jerome said from the kitchen doorway, between bites of an apple he’d found. Arthur glanced at him, then reached up to touch the greasepaint that still clung to his face. He remembered for the second time that he hadn’t bothered to switch from his costume to normal clothes before his commute back home, and the carefully applied white and blue paint, as well as the wide red smile, still shrouded his features. 

He turned back to Jeremiah, who was staring up at him, his palms pressed together in a clear attempt to keep his hands from trembling. For a moment, he wanted to ask _why _something like that would scare the boy so immensely, but he decided his curiosity didn’t need to take precedent at the moment. After all, he knew nothing whatsoever about either of the twins, or where they came from (or why they had been wandering alone in the alley, for that matter…Arthur knew that question should have been at the top of his list of things he needed to ask, but he was so used to unusual things happening in the corrupt city that was Gotham that it had slipped his mind in the moment). Asking about the things they were afraid of was likely not going to work well in his favor. 

“Okay.” he finally said, glancing from one boy to the other and keeping his voice low enough that he wouldn’t wake his mother in the next room, “You both wait right here, then, all right?” He didn’t think they’d try to run off, especially when he seemed to be gaining their trust (well, Jerome’s at least), but, he kept telling himself, he didn’t know what kids would do, and the thought of two young children running around the city on their own was horrifying. 

“Where’re you going?” Jerome crossed the room and climbed over the back of the sofa, sitting down next to his brother. Arthur straightened up, looking down at both of them.

“Taking this off.” He gestured to the face paint. “Didn’t you say that’s what—”

“Oh, yeah.” the redhead interrupted, nodding sagely. Now that he was closer, Arthur could see the boy’s features were sharper than his twin’s, his eyes shrewdly sizing him up, filled with unspoken questions. Jeremiah may have been the more cautious of the two, but Jerome’s suspicion was undeniable.

He might have decided to trust Arthur enough to stay at the apartment for the night, but his trust didn’t go much further than that. If any further at all.

“I’ll be right back.” He watched them carefully before slipping through the slightly-opened bedroom door, wondering if they would be there when he returned. He’d heard somewhere once that the best way to earn trust was by trusting the other person, so maybe the twins would think the same way. Maybe, if he showed that he trusted _them, _they would stay.

He hoped so, at least.

To Arthur’s immense relief, both redheads were still seated on the sofa when he returned, whispering to one another. They looked up simultaneously when he re-entered the room, devoid of the costume makeup, and he could see nearly all the fear fade away from Jeremiah’s expression.

Well, that was some progress, in any case.

He resumed his spot in the armchair, and this time, Jeremiah allowed him to take his wrist and examine the small scratch that ran up his arm. The boy was still tense, and his brother still watched Arthur with a hawk-like intensity, resting his chin on Jeremiah’s shoulder in between bites of the apple he’d taken from the kitchen, but they both seemed less unsure. 

“You said a cat did this to you?” Arthur directed the question at the quieter redhead, hoping to encourage him to speak, but Jerome was the one who answered for him.

“Yeah, Miah loves cats. He was tryin’ to pick it up, but it wasn’t a friendly cat, not like the ones they had at the circus, and—”

“Jer_ome!” _Jeremiah spun around, disregarding Arthur’s hold on his arm, and glared at his brother. His eyes darted back to Arthur a millisecond later, caution clouding his expression, and the latter gave him a questioning look. 

“The circus?” he echoed, wondering what Jerome had meant and why it had elicited the first real reaction—not to mention words—out of his twin. “Is that where you two are from?” He’d heard there was a circus stopping near the outskirts of the city, but hadn’t paid it much thought. Now, however, he realized that could be important information, especially considering neither of the twins had spoken a word about their family or where they were from until now. 

Part of him wondered if they weren’t really lost.

_You think they’re trying to get away from someplace, _his mind finished, and Arthur frowned. Trying to solve a problem of two children who were lost was worrying enough in and of itself, but two children who were hiding from something? That was a whole new level of issues he’d have to uncover.

And the more he thought about it, the more likely of an option it seemed to be.

His attention snapped back to the moment as the twins’ voices rose over one another, an argument breaking out between them. He threw a hurried glance over his shoulder at the closed bedroom door, hushing them.

“Hey, remember you’ve got to keep it quiet, okay? You—”

“You’re so _stupid.” _Jeremiah said between his teeth, still glaring daggers at his brother, and Jerome responded with a mocking laugh. 

“Oh, shut _up, _you’re being…”

“Let’s go.” Jeremiah shoved his brother back against the sofa, climbing down and brushing off the front of his sweater aggrievedly with his free hand. Arthur’s eyes widened and his grip on the boy’s wrist unintentionally tightened.

“No, no, you can’t do that.” he said worriedly, and Jerome gave him a sudden, scathing glare as Jeremiah wrenched his arm away from his grasp and huddled closer to his brother, their momentary bickering forgotten. Arthur drew in a deep breath. “This city’s too dangerous for you two to be out there on your own.” They didn’t seem convinced, and he tried again, “I won’t ask you questions you don’t want to answer, okay? I just don't want you getting in trouble out there, especially if you aren’t from Gotham.” They both tensed at that, but said nothing. “How about this. If you want to tell me about yourselves, then you can, but I won’t make you. I just want you to be safe, but I won’t make you answer questions.” He glanced from one to the other. “Deal?”

Neither one spoke for a long moment until Jerome looked at Jeremiah for confirmation. The latter was chewing on his lip nervously, and his brother didn’t wait for the go-ahead before he stuck out a hand and nodded. “Okay. Deal.”

Arthur smiled at him, then turned to Jeremiah. “All right with you?”

He nodded slowly, not looking particularly happy about the situation, but also not ready to cut and run at the blink of an eye. “Okay…”

“Great.” He couldn’t help a sigh of relief at that. “Can I take another look at your arm? Just to make sure that cat didn’t get you too bad? I’ve got some special band-aids with balloons on…” _Wait, no clowns. Remember what he said about the circus. _“I, um, I’ll just patch it up for you, all right?”

Jeremiah nodded, his blue eyes wide as he watched Arthur silently, but he didn’t look nearly as afraid as before, and even ventured a tentative, small smile. Arthur smiled back, the unconscious tension that had built up in his shoulders flooding out as some of his confidence was restored.

Maybe this wouldn’t be such a mess after all.

\+ + + + + + +

He glanced over his shoulder at the two small figures huddled in the corner of the sofa, half-hidden beneath the threadbare blanket they had wrapped around themselves, and gave them a soft smile. They had been reluctant (well, Jeremiah had been reluctant) to accept after he’d accidentally mentioned he slept on the sofa every night, but Arthur had reassured them that he’d find a place to sleep, and there was no way he’d make _them _bunk on the floor while he got the sofa. They had promptly curled up next to one another after that, and he’d hurried to scrounge through the kitchen and get them something for dinner. All he’d been able to produce was some instant oatmeal, which he’d cooked up in their ancient microwave and had been devoured on sight by the two young boys. After hunting down a blanket and some old shirts to serve as makeshift pajamas, he’d tried to restore some of the normalcy to his routine by searching for the recording of the television show he never missed.

He still didn’t have the faintest idea where he was going to go from here…he had next to no knowledge in regard to how to take care of children, and neither of the twins had bothered to elaborate on where they came from, so he couldn’t simply cart them off back to wherever their home was. But for the moment, they seemed content, and he supposed he could figure out a course of action in the morning.

For now, he needed to think things over before anything else.

Twisting the dial on the television, Arthur waited for the static to clear from the screen. A few faint, wavering notes of a Frank Sinatra song floated through the barely-working speakers, and he turned back to the two brothers, another smile darting across his face.

“Do you guys like the Murray Franklin Show?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment and let me know what you think! I'm open to anything...comments, criticisms, whatever thoughts you had :) Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: if you haven't see Joker yet, there will be spoilers from the movie coming up pretty soon (a few allusions to some in this chapter too)...just a heads-up in case you don't want spoilers before seeing the movie! :)

**Chapter Two**

Arthur quietly shut the front door of the apartment behind him, dropping the keys into his pocket as he turned away. “Okay. Are you guys ready to go?”

The two redheads sitting next to the door, backs up against the wall and skinny legs drawn close to their chests, looked up at him and nodded in unison. Jerome leapt to his feet, dragging Jeremiah behind him, and Arthur gave them a half-smile as they appeared on either side of him, all three walking down the corridor to the elevator.

“I want you both to remember what I told you.” he said seriously, pausing in front of the dented brass elevator doors. Jerome was busy staring at his reflection in one of the doors, tilting his head as the image distorted from the uneven surface of the metal, and Jeremiah was studying the up and down buttons alongside it. Arthur cleared his throat, and they turned back to him, attention momentarily captured. “Stay where I tell you to, and wait for me there until I get back from work. I don’t want you talking to any of the other guys, got it?” He paused for a moment, frowning thoughtfully. “Well, you can talk to Randall, I guess, and Gary. But none of the others.” In truth, he didn’t want _any _of his coworkers crossing paths with the twins…they weren’t exactly specimens of morality, and Arthur didn’t want to jeopardize his new companions’ safety, but he also knew it would be incredibly boring for two young children to sit around in a break room all day with nothing to do.

At least, that was what he assumed. He honestly couldn’t drag up any particular childhood memories of his own for comparison. But that wasn’t something to worry about right now.

“Can I press the button?” Jerome’s eager voice cut through Arthur’s thoughts, and he blinked, turning to smile down at the redhead staring up at him with a tentative grin on his face, as if he expected to be reprimanded for the question. Arthur nodded, and Jerome giggled delightedly, eyes shining as he pressed the “down” selection. He jumped in surprise when the doors creaked open—Arthur thought it looked more like a flinch, but said nothing—and turned to his brother, linking their hands together and pulling him inside. 

As the elevator made its laborious travel downward, Arthur glanced at Jeremiah, who was staring at the ceiling, one hand holding his glasses in place and the other interlocked with Jerome’s. His forehead was creased in concentration, and he seemed to be thinking deeply about something. After the usual jolt that Arthur had grown used to (he’d forgotten the twins _weren’t _used to it and had to reassure them that no, they weren’t going to crash and the elevator wasn’t going to break, not this time around, at least) Jeremiah spoke up.

“How does it work?” He nodded at the ceiling, and Arthur followed his gaze, surveying the tangles of wire and cords that stretched up into the darkness of the elevator shaft, only partway visible through the crisscross copper slats that formed the ceiling itself. “What makes it move like that?”

Arthur shrugged, absentmindedly pulling at a loose string on the end of his jacket sleeve. “I don’t know. Whatever it is, they didn’t build it very well.”

“Miah could build it.” Jerome elbowed his brother in the side, and Jeremiah gave him a withering look. “He wants to be a building designer.”

“An _engineer.” _his twin corrected him, looking directly at Arthur as if to make sure the latter realized he knew big words like “engineer.” Arthur smiled at him. “But I don’t know how to yet.”

“He knows how to draw buildings and stuff.” Jerome cut in, bursting with pride at his brother’s accomplishments. Jeremiah ducked his head, scuffing his foot against the ground. “Didja know he used to have a whole _book _he drew buildings and mazes and things in?”

The elevator doors opened slowly, and Arthur let the twins step out first before following them. “Used to? What happened to it?” 

“I lost it.” Jeremiah said sharply, looking up quickly before Jerome could reply. The latter was silent, his only reaction to the statement being a small nod. Arthur stopped walking for a moment, looking at them both intently as he tried to figure out what they were withholding, but he’d promised them he wouldn’t ask about things they’d rather not discuss, and at the moment, he had to honor that promise.

It did worry him that he could be accidentally keeping two children from returning to their home where they belonged, but something about the haunted look that hid constantly beneath their expressions, as well as the way they seemed so intent to the point of fear to say nothing about where they had come from, told him otherwise. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he recognized a desperation in them that he could understand on an unsettlingly deep level.

He almost felt like he could have _been _them, in another time and another world.

And so he kept himself from asking questions, and ignored it when they nearly let information slip. Arthur had to admit they were uncannily good at keeping secrets…any other nine-year-olds would have let their guard down at this point, but the twins stoically avoided any mention of what had brought them to Gotham City, and what they were running from.

When they stepped outside into the bitingly cold air, Arthur glanced worriedly at his two young companions. They weren’t complaining, but after a mere two minutes into their walk to the subway, they were falling behind, huddled together for warmth as the harsh wind made their faces flush and eyes sting. Pushing aside the twinge of guilt that sparked inside him for having overlooked something so simple, Arthur slowed his pace, turning around until they caught up. Jeremiah’s glasses were fogging up from the cold, and he pulled them off his face with trembling hands, cleaning them off on the corner of his shirt.

“You guys didn’t bring anything else along with you, did you?” Arthur stepped aside as a group of office workers hurried past. Jeremiah squinted up at him before shoving his glasses back onto his nose, and Jerome peered over his brother’s shoulder, the wind tousling his unruly red curls. “I mean,” Arthur continued, softening his tone even more when he noticed the nervous expressions that crossed both their faces, “you don’t have coats or anything with you?”

They shook their heads at the same time, and Arthur didn’t miss the way Jeremiah shrank back against Jerome, and how the latter’s look of uncertainty became some sort of cross between defensiveness and belligerence. He was also the one to speak, his voice catching in the wind and making it sound even smaller.

“No. We…we don’t…”

“…have any.” Jeremiah finished for him, looking like he was exercising every ounce of courage he possessed to simply speak. Arthur looked from one to the other before reaching into the prop bag that now also contained his costume, and producing the houndstooth blazer he would wear later in the day. 

“Okay, well, until we can get you something, do you think you can share this?” The coat was oversized even for him, and he was sure two small children could easily fit into it, using it as a sort of pseudo-blanket to shield off the cold temporarily. For a moment, as he held it out to them, he wasn’t sure they would take it. They only stared at it, looking a bit more than skeptical, until Jerome reached out a hand cautiously, pulling it from Arthur’s grasp in a sudden, nearly defiant, movement. He pulled the coat around his brother’s shoulders, and then his own, watching Arthur all the while. When the latter made no move to take it back, or act aggressively, they both relaxed slightly, still shivering but their expressions free from wariness. 

Arthur suddenly wasn’t sure if he wanted to know _anything _about where they had come from.

“Thanks.” Jeremiah’s voice emerged from the depths of the jacket that was now wrapped around both their small figures. Two red-haired heads, one with glasses that had fogged up yet again, appeared, and Arthur gave them a fond smile, gesturing for them to follow him as he resumed his walk toward the subway. He heard muffled laughter and murmured voices behind him, and he realized he was growing more convinced by the minute that he never wanted them to have to return to wherever they had been trying to escape.

_Whomever _they’d been trying to escape.

The subway seemed more crowded than usual, and Arthur kept a watchful eye on the twins as he directed them into the closest train car. Jeremiah hung back at first, and Arthur caught a glimpse of panic in his eyes when he saw the swarms of people all around, but before he could offer any reassurances, Jerome had already shoved his brother through the doors, disentangling them both from the costume jacket. Arthur followed close behind, clearing out a spot on the end of the seats for them. They sat down next to him, one on each side, and stared wordlessly at the crowds around them. When the train started with a sudden lurch, Arthur felt two small hands clutching instinctively at his arms and tensed for a moment, trying to think of some way to explain to them that this wasn’t dangerous. He still hadn’t gotten used to the idea of watching out for kids—_two _of them, at that—and was beginning to realize it was much more difficult that he’d previously thought.

Well, more attention-consuming, at least. 

Before he could voice any of the carefully-crafted reassurances he’d been thinking up, Jerome began rummaging through the prop bag that Arthur had set down beside them, his eyes wide with interest. “Is this yours?” he asked, and Arthur, who had been lost in thought, turned to see what he was holding.

He thought his heart had stopped for a moment, and a stifling wave of anxiety crashed over him so quickly that he didn’t have time to think.

_No one’s supposed to know about the gun._

He tore the pistol from Jerome’s grasp wordlessly, shoving it back into the the bag beneath the costume pieces and props. The boy flinched at the sudden movement, inching away until he was pressed up against the passenger beside him. On Arthur’s other side, Jeremiah looked over, watching silently, his small body going rigid with sudden apprehension. He hadn’t seen the gun, but his brother’s reaction hadn’t gone unnoticed and Arthur had learned by now, even in the short time he’d been acquainted with them, that they instinctively took cues from another, sensing danger or uncertainty without having to hear a word of warning from anyone. As if they were hard-wired to be on the lookout for anyone trying to cause them harm.

Crushing guilt burned in his chest at the thought that _he _had just been the one to make them feel that way.

_You don’t understand, it’s supposed to be a secret, no one can know about the gun…_

It was for their safety, they were the _last _people he’d ever want to know about the pistol Randall had given him just days before. Besides the fact that they could accidentally let the information slip, they didn’t need to know _why _he had the gun. They didn’t need to hear about how vicious Gotham City was, how being on the streets, even for work, was no better than a death sentence in some parts of town. 

How the only reason he hadn’t refused Randall’s offer to bring a gun was because they both knew it was only a matter of time before Arthur would get jumped again, and there was no way to know if the next time, it would be fatal.

There was a _reason _he hadn’t left the twins to fend for themselves in that alley the night before.

Jerome was still staring at him as if waiting for one of them to make the first move, and Arthur bit down on his lip so hard he tasted blood. _No, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…_He had no idea where to go from here, wasn’t even sure where he’d gone wrong in the first place.

He only knew he’d messed up.

“It’s…not mine.” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. Both twins were watching him now, identical expressions of unease on their faces. Even if Jerome had been the only one who saw the gun, they were both wholly invested in ensuring each other’s safety, and Jeremiah looked ready to defend his brother against whatever sort of threat they may have had to face.

“It’s not mine.” he repeated, clearing his throat. “I’m, um…returning it to a guy I work with. He…left it behind the other day. Yesterday. And I didn’t…I didn’t want someone else to take it.”

Jeremiah, who didn’t know what the conversation was about, frowned. But Jerome seemed to at least partway accept Arthur’s word as truth, and he nodded, although he still stayed almost an arm’s length away from the former. The wariness in his eyes was mostly gone, but glimpses of it still remained, and Arthur swallowed hard, remnants of something like forgotten memories pressing at his thoughts.

_“…stay there until…”_

He pushed the thought away. If it was a memory, he didn’t want to think about it.

Jerome’s attention had drifted away from the moment of tension between the three of them—it really _had _been only a moment, although in Arthur’s mind it had felt like hours—and he swung his legs back and forth, feet dangling nearly six inches off the ground. “What kinda work do clowns do?” he asked, staring out the opposite window as the lights inside the subway flashed by too quickly for the eye to follow. Arthur gave the prop bag, still containing the gun, a dubious glance before answering.

“Whatever we get hired to do. It depends on the day.” _Some days you get to make balloon animals for kids, some days you end up getting a beat-down in an alley all because of some kids stealing your sign. _It wasn’t the job it was cracked up to be, not by a long shot, but with the way the city was in, he couldn’t quit now. Finding a new job would be difficult enough, given his limited work experience anywhere else, and if this was the only way he could keep his mother’s apartment rent paid for a little while—not to mention the overtime hours he was working every day, so late in the evening sometimes that he was the only one left when he got back to the actual office—then it was what he would keep on doing. “As long as you get the customers to smile, then you’ve done your job.” The words sounded hollow, and he mentally rolled his eyes at himself. How many times had someone said those exact same words to him, reminding him how important it was to make people smile, how it was his _job, _and wasn’t it ironic, wasn’t it the funniest joke out of all of them, because he had never, ever once felt like smiling himself.

Even the pathological laughter that he all-too-often found himself unable to contain was like a cruel mockery, reminding him that it didn’t matter how he felt. It didn’t matter who he was.

Because in Gotham City, he was _no one._

“Hey Miah, would this make you smile?” Jerome dove into the prop bag—fortunately, he didn’t go for the gun, which Arthur had been afraid of—and produced a magic wand with a bouquet of retractable flowers still halfway showing out the top. He waved it in his brother’s face, and Jeremiah narrowed his eyes at him, clearly unamused. 

“You’re not supposed to touch stuff that isn't yours.”

“Artie doesn’t mind, do you?” Jerome glanced up at Arthur, who smiled at the nickname. Jeremiah interrupted before he could answer.

“Jerome, put it back.”

“Do I look like a real magician?” his brother giggled, purposefully ignoring him. “Hey, I could do a magic show and Artie can be my assistant clown, and you—”

“_Stop _it, Jerome.” Jeremiah’s voice was beginning to quiver, and his twin’s expression changed instantly, switching to utter remorse. He shoved the prop back into the bag and crawled back onto the seat, staring around Arthur at Jeremiah with wide, worried eyes.

“Sorry.” he muttered, twisting his hands together in his lap. His brother was silent, sitting back in the subway seat and pulling his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his knees. Arthur, remembering how he’d promised to avoid any questions they didn’t want to answer, kept quiet.

When the train stopped with another sudden jolt and the crowds began filing out the sliding doors, he hoisted the prop back onto his shoulder and let both twins hold his hands as they threaded their way through the passengers. They clung onto him tightly, their tiny hands gripping his with a sense of trust neither of them had shown so far. Arthur hurried them along through the doors of the subway, slowing his steps as they both turned to look back at the train, curiosity shining in their eyes.

He was growing more and more certain that he was going to have to find them a place to stay where he could keep an eye on them. More than ever, he wanted to make sure they would be safe.

\+ + + + + + + +

“Hey, Arthur.” One of his coworkers swiveled around in the chair he was sitting in, partway through removing the greasepaint from the lower half of his face. “They belong to you?”

Arthur, who had entered the room just moments before, paused in the doorway, one hand resting on the clock that was screwed to the wall, just below the communal timesheet they all filled out at the ends of their shifts. “What’re you talking about?”

“Those two little orphan Annies out there.” He turned back around to face the mirror, swiping the cloth across his face again to clear away more of the greasepaint. “None of the other guys know where they’re from, and they won’t talk to us.”

“Oh.” Arthur straightened up, tossing the “For Sale” sign he’d been holding for the day’s job to the side. “Where are they?”

“They’re yours, then?” the man asked, meeting Arthur’s eyes in the mirror.

“They were lost.” He didn’t want to get into specifics right now. “I’m trying to figure out—”

He was cut off as Gary entered the room, shoving past him. “So they’re Arthur’s, eh?” He raised an eyebrow, his words tinged with his cockney British accent. “Good thing you got here in time, we were gonna call pest control if no one came by to pick ‘em up.” He laughed good-humoredly, crossing the room to pick up his costume suit hanging on a locker and walking back out.

Arthur sighed, opening his own locker and sorting through the contents absentmindedly. He’d been certain that, after a day of being left to his own thoughts during gigs, he would have come up with a plan on how to take care of the twins, but nothing had come to mind. Keeping them in his own apartment wouldn’t work much longer…his mother would find out, and he couldn’t shake the bad feeling he had about that. Somehow, the thought of his mother taking care of children caused a cold shiver to run through him.

A momentary flash of memory, accompanied by something like a metallic rattling sound, echoed in his head.

_“…but he’s…”_

Arthur’s eye twitched, and he felt the familiar urge to laugh rise in his throat. 

_“…so happy…”_

He pressed his lips tightly together and stared stoically ahead until the memory (part of him thought that maybe it was a memory, but the other part would never let him believe it) decided to go away. It was better to ignore those brief whispers of things he could never fully remember…in truth, he didn’t want to know much about his past or his childhood, if that was what it was, although he couldn’t really explain why. Whether it was the creeping sense of deep-set dread that accompanied any attempt at remembering that time, or the way he knew he _couldn’t _remember it in the first place…in any case, it wasn’t something he wanted to confront. 

“Arthur.” A voice interrupted his thoughts, and he glanced over his shoulder and then down to see Gary standing in the hall behind him. The other man jerked a thumb toward the open door of the break room. “Looks like your little buddies are gettin’ into some trouble.”

Arthur hurried over, nerves spiking when he saw the twins had been cornered by Randall, who was pacing back and forth, his voice raising with every syllable until he was almost shouting. The subjects of his anger were backed up into the corner of the room, holding onto one another as if their lives depended on it. Jeremiah’s eyes were closed tightly and he was trembling uncontrollably, halfway hiding behind Jerome, whose blue eyes sparked with helpless indignation in his frightened, pale face. 

“…isn’t a place for _thieves _like you!” Randall was saying, gesturing vehemently to the shapeless bag sitting on the long, narrow bench of the break room, the sleeve of a costume spilling out the top, along with several props: a convertible magic wand, bouquet of cloth flowers, and bicycle horn. “When I leave my stuff in this place, I expect—”

“Randall, don’t.” Arthur broke in, his voice catching in his throat. His nerves were tense to a breaking point, and he knew it would be nearly impossible to fight back the compulsive laughter that pressed against his chest until he could barely breathe. The twins turned to look at him at the same time, still holding tightly onto one another. Randall glanced from one to the other, then at Arthur, and raised one eyebrow.

“These little bastards with you?” he grated, and Arthur clenched his hands into fists, his eyes flashing. He’d never stood up to Randall before…besides the fact the man could blackmail him now that he knew Arthur had possession of a gun (sure, it was Randall’s own gun, but their boss would never believe it if Arthur tried to explain that), he was simply intimidating, and there was something about him that, despite Arthur’s best efforts to get along with him, had always been off-putting. He wasn’t sure what, but it wasn’t helping Randall's case to see him shouting at the two petrified boys in the corner of the break room.

“They’re with me.” Arthur said quietly, voice shaking from the strain of holding in the laughter. _It’ll only scare them more. You have to keep it together. For them._ “And you…you don’t have to yell at them. Whatever they did…”

“Tried to _steal _my stuff!” Randall was quick to explain, crossing his arms irately.

“But they didn’t. So leave them alone.”

“Yeah, and they’ll come right back and try it again.” the bigger man growled, and Arthur instinctively backed away. He’d always tentatively considered Randall to be his friend—or the closest thing to a friend he’d been able to find in this place—but the feeling clearly wasn’t being reciprocated at the moment. 

“They won’t.” The words were little more than a breath, and Arthur squared his shoulders, trying to at least gather some bravado for the moment. “I…I promise, they won’t.”

“Oh, yeah?” Randall scoffed, striding across the room to remove his overcoat from the hook on the wall. Shrugging it over his shoulders, he gave Arthur a seething look, who returned it with a halfhearted frown.

“I don’t see why you’re so mad. You don’t have any valuables in that bag.”

“It’s because,” Randall’s voice was too loud, and Arthur resisted the urge to put his hands over his ears, “I can’t go _anywhere _in this damned city without having to watch my back. You know that, Arthur.” _Yes, you both know it. It’s why you gave me the gun. But you shouldn’t blame them for the things going wrong in Gotham. It isn’t fair._ “That’s what makes me mad.” He emphasized his point by banging a fist against the rusted radiator in the corner of the room.

The harsh clanging sound of the metal unexpectedly tore apart the final threads of control Arthur held over his thoughts. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the hazy remnants of forgotten nightmares that tortured his mind. 

They _were _nightmares, of course, they couldn’t be real, nothing so terrible like that could _possibly _be real…

He couldn’t help the agonized, sharp laughter that spilled from his lips, and brought both hands up to cover his mouth, nearly doubling over as mental images of those nightmares flashed before his closed eyes.

_“…always so happy…”_

The clanging of the radiator Randall had hit still reverberated in his head, echoing over and over again like funeral bells, worse than any headache and inescapable. 

_It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not…_

It wasn’t ever real…

_Couldn’t _have been.

His throat burned from laughing, and he gasped in a shuddering breath, trying to break it off somehow. It was hopeless to try and control the laughter, especially when his nerves were on edge, and his coworkers knew it, but the twins…

He was so afraid of scaring them off, and not knowing if they would be all right if they left, and thinking it was all his fault if something happened. The very idea was abhorrent, and Arthur clenched his jaw, stifling another laugh that threatened to rise in his throat.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, feeling involuntary tears burning in his eyes from the strain. His breathing was ragged, and his shoulders slumped with sudden exhaustion. Randall, who looked like he had been trying to ignore him (maybe because he felt guilty for being the one who brought it on, but Arthur wasn't about to give him that much charitable credit), cleared his throat.

“Look,” he said roughly, shouldering his bag and stuffing the contents back inside with a final warning glance at the twins, “just don’t touch my stuff again, got it? If you’re gonna steal, do it somewhere else.”

Jerome nodded mutely, nudging his brother gently to do so as well. The other redhead didn’t move, only wrapped his arms around himself tighter, but Randall wasn’t going to stay to push the matter. He breezed past Arthur, who still stood in the doorway, and they heard his heavy footsteps echoing down the stairs. The two brothers stared after him, Jeremiah risking the chance of opening his eyes the slightest amount and lifting a trembling hand to push his glasses further up onto his face. Jerome's hands were balled into fists and there was anger burning beneath the instinctive fear in his expression. Arthur looked at them silently from the other side of the room, unable to speak or move.

_They're going to leave._ It was the only thought he could muster, breaking past the muddled remnants of that terrible nightmare that wouldn't leave him alone. _They'll leave, and there'll be no one to watch out for them, and..._

“I’m sorry.” His voice was hoarse, and the words shook with the effort it took to not burst out laughing all over again. Miserably, his stare dropped to the ground, and he wished he could disappear where he stood. It felt like hours were passing by, although by the loud ticking of the clock in the next room, it was less than half a minute before the silence was broken.

“It’s okay.” Jerome said quietly, taking Jeremiah’s hand in his own and crossing the room to go stand by Arthur. He stared up at the man with an expression of complete seriousness, the most intent he had ever looked up to this point. It was as if he was searching Arthur’s face for some sort of explanation, but didn’t even attempt to try and drag one out of him. Jeremiah followed his gaze, and Arthur ventured a quick glance in their direction, barely able to meet their eyes.

_I’m sorry. I’m…_

But the unspoken apology wasn’t needed, because neither of the twins asked for one. Jerome continued to watch Arthur carefully, holding onto his brother in a protective grip, and Jeremiah’s gaze was almost analytical beneath the uncertainty it held, but there was no question voiced by either to try and gather some sort of explanation.

They only stared back at him, something almost like understanding hidden deep in their identical blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Comments? Criticisms? Let me know! 
> 
> Also, thanks for reading!!! <3


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

“Were you trying to steal Randall’s things?” Arthur glanced over his shoulder as he put the chain lock on the door in place and made sure it was tightly shut. The twins, standing behind him, looked at each other.

“No,” Jeremiah said, just as Jerome replied, “Yes.” The former looked away guiltily, crossing his arms. Jerome held Arthur’s gaze steadily, something almost like a challenge in his eyes. Daring Arthur to reprimand him for what he’d done, or had tried to do.

“We were gonna put it back.” Jeremiah’s voice was soft, and his eyes were wide behind his glasses. Jerome scoffed, kicking his brother in the ankle.

“No, we weren’t. And it was _your_ idea.”

“Not to steal anything, it wasn’t.” Jeremiah was the picture of perfect innocence, giving his brother and then Arthur a pleading glance, but Jerome only narrowed his eyes at him. 

“Oh, shut up. You think you’re gonna fool me? Or him?” He nodded at Arthur, who had said nothing. “You’re just mad we got caught.”

Jeremiah’s small shoulders tensed, and his glare looked like it could cut glass. “We _wouldn’t _have been caught if you had just stopped taking stuff when you heard him coming.” he said between his teeth, and Jerome’s eyes lit up spitefully.

“See? You’re admitting it!” He turned to face Arthur. “It was _his _idea.”

Arthur looked nervously at the bedroom door, hoping his mother was asleep. He hadn’t anticipated an argument between the two, and if she heard, if she found out…“You guys are gonna—”

Neither Jerome or Jeremiah were listening to him. “It wasn’t my idea, _you_ said you wanted something to do, and…”

“And you said we should try and take the stuff, so shut up!”

“_You _shut up, Jerome, I’m…” Jeremiah’s words choked off as his brother slapped him across the face, and he stumbled back, tears springing to his eyes as he pressed a hand to his cheek. His glasses sat askew on his nose, and he shoved them back in place forcefully, his irritated glare turning angry.

On Jerome’s part, his momentary expression of remorse was replaced by annoyance, and he looked over at Arthur for support. “He’s lying. It was his idea.”

Not sure what to say to that, but knowing they couldn’t stay in the apartment any longer unless they quieted down, Arthur tried to calm the situation. “Guys. It’s okay. I just didn’t want you getting in trouble with Randall, all right?” Jerome sighed irately and Jeremiah sniffed, still holding the side of his face. “But you can’t argue about it. Remember, you’ve gotta stay quiet.” He nodded to the closed door of his mother’s room.

They both looked ready to defy him and continue with their bickering, but there was something in Arthur’s words that stopped them. Either the unconscious anxiety that hid itself in his voice when he alluded to his mother, or the genuine worry he seemed to have for both of them…whatever it was, it was enough to make them stop arguing for the moment. Giving each other baleful glances, they climbed onto opposite ends of the sofa, curling up beside the armrests. 

Arthur sighed, relieved, and shrugged off his jacket, hanging it up beside the door. “What am I gonna do with you two?” he muttered under his breath. He couldn’t drag two children along with him to work every day. Especially after what had happened today. And what if they came back to the apartment while his mother was still up? Or didn’t leave early enough in the morning? She would inevitably find out about them, and Arthur wouldn’t know how to explain, he wouldn’t know what to do…

But he couldn’t just abandon them. The possibility didn’t even cross his mind.

There was a vacant apartment adjoining his, and he’d thought a few times that he might put them there for the day until he got back from work. At first, he’d been worried at the prospect…they were so young, and leaving them alone for the entire day wasn’t exactly going to put his mind at ease. But now, even in the limited time he’d known them, he had come to realize that they weren’t quite the naive innocents he’d first taken them for. They may not have understood the dangers of Gotham City, but they could take care of themselves, to an extent at least.

Arthur wished they would trust him enough to tell him where they had come from. 

“Is that from the gun?” 

Jerome was clearly trying to keep his voice quiet, but it came out as a whisper almost louder than if he had spoken aloud. Arthur turned around sharply to see what he was talking about, to see Jerome standing on the armchair, leaning over the back on tiptoe to observe the bullet hole that had torn into the wall from a few nights before. When Arthur hadn’t known the gun Randall gave him was loaded and…

Well, _that_ had happened.

“What gun?” Jeremiah bounded across the sofa cushions, ignoring his stony silence directed toward his brother that he had been intent on just moments before. Joining Jerome on the armchair, he followed the other’s gaze before looking back at Arthur, who shrugged.

“I was thinking,” he began, ignoring the question, “so you don’t have to follow me to work tomorrow, maybe you’d like—”

“I want to see the gun.” Jeremiah interrupted, climbing off the chair as his twin followed him. Arthur backed away, up against the wall. 

“—the empty apartment next door.” he finished slowly, and Jeremiah’s mouth twisted with disappointment at his request being ignored. “It’s not locked, the landlord didn’t bother to after the last people moved out, and it’s not too bad in there, I don't think. You would just have to make sure you stay out of sight, otherwise someone could catch you and you’d get in trouble.”

“So it's a real one?” Jerome asked, clearly not having been listening to anything Arthur had said. “I thought it was like a prop or something.”

“I…I never even said that,” Arthur nodded to the bullet hole in the wall, “was from a gun. Or had anything to do with me.”

“But was it?”

“No.” _Now you’re the liar here._ “It _is _a prop, and that hole was there when we moved here. This isn’t exactly uptown living here, and repairs cost too much to get something small like that fixed.” It was surprising, how easily he could cover up the truth. But then, lying to children was probably easier than lying to adults, right?

“Why would you have a prop gun?” Jeremiah asked with complete seriousness, and Arthur internally sighed.

Well, maybe not so easy.

“For…oh, you know, just for shows and stuff. It’s…” He studied a crack in the ceiling. “It’s a water gun. You’ve seen those before, right?”

“Oh.” Jeremiah nodded, and Jerome looked up at that.

“Like the ones at the…at circuses. That they use for games.” The last sentence was stilted, as if he’d been intending to say more, but had stopped himself. Arthur caught Jeremiah tossing an irate look at his brother.

“Sure. Yeah. Like those.” 

“That makes sense.” Jeremiah said quickly, before Jerome could speak up again. He climbed down from the armchair, adjusting his glasses. “What happens if someone finds us in the empty apartment?”

Arthur blinked at the whiplash-fast change of subject, and it took him a moment to realize the redhead was referring to the suggestion he’d made a minute ago. “Oh. Don’t worry, no one’s gonna find you. Not even the health inspector bothers to check the empty rooms. Doesn’t get paid enough for that.”

“Can we still come over here sometimes?” Jerome asked slowly. “I like watching the Murray show with you. You’re good at doing all the voices.”

Arthur smiled at that. “You can come over whenever you want. I just want you to have someplace safe to stay.”

They both considered that for a moment before seeming to simultaneously decide it would be all right. At any rate, it didn’t warrant any further discussion, because Jeremiah promptly changed the subject yet again, just as quickly as before. 

“Can I see the gun now? I want to look at it.”

Arthur sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand nervously. The last thing he wanted was either of the twins getting their hands on the weapon…just having it with him was already putting him on edge, and had been ever since Randall had given it to him. He’d considered giving it back once or twice, but something in him always rebelled against the idea.

_Just in case, _it would whisper, almost encouragingly. _Just in case something happens._

_ Then you’ll be prepared._

Regardless, he knew there was no way he was letting either of the two children handle a weapon like that. And he had told them it was a prop…he couldn't lose their trust by letting them learn he’d lied, or else he knew he’d never see them again. And that couldn’t happen. They couldn’t run off on their own, not if he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life feeling guilty.

“Maybe another time.” he said slowly, knowing full well that “another time” was code for “never”, and he would continue to put off the subject until it became unavoidable. Jeremiah knew it too, and shot a resentful look at Arthur for it, although he didn’t complain. He didn’t really care all that much about the gun, fake or not, but it was the refusal that irked him. Still, he knew when he wasn’t going to win an argument. And before he could pursue the subject, Arthur continued,

“By the way, sorry for the way Randall was acting earlier. He…he’s usually not like that.” It was another lie, or sort of one; Randall wasn’t truly what he’d consider a friend. And he wasn’t what Arthur would consider to be a nice person, not by a long shot. But then, Arthur didn’t exactly have high standards for acquaintances…out of all his coworkers, Randall was one of the few who didn’t spend most of their time making life harder for him, and that categorized him as something that could almost pass as a friend, in his eyes. But after what had happened today…well, it was safe to say his faith had been shaken a bit.

Neither of the twins said anything to that, and Arthur wondered if he should have avoided the subject altogether. There was something that darkened both of their expressions at the topic being brought up again, a wariness that he knew wasn’t directed at him, but still caused his stomach to twist guiltily. Hurriedly, he added, “Anyway, we can get the apartment next door fixed up a bit for you two and you won’t have to come to work with me tomorrow. How does that sound?”

They nodded in unison, and Jeremiah offered him a small smile. Jerome’s expression didn’t change, but some of the wariness faded from his eyes. As if the thought of whatever had crossed his mind had lifted like a cloud. Arthur smiled back at them, suddenly resolving that he would find out, one way or another, who they really were.

Where they had come from.

What they were trying to escape.

Even if he had promised he wouldn’t ask them about it, that didn’t mean he couldn’t do a little searching of his own. He had to know more about them, if only so he could protect them even more than he already was. 

Keep them safe from whatever past they were running from.

\+ + + + + + + + +

The blackboard on which they wrote their weekly schedules was smudged with the powdery remnants of chalk, streaking across the blackness here and there beneath the hastily drawn squares meant to represent the days of the week. On his way out of the office, Arthur paused to glance at it, making sure he didn’t have too much scheduled for the following day. He was already working overtime most days, and this week had been particularly heavy, so it would be nice to have marginally less to do tomorrow.

Besides, he had the twins to look after.

He’d gotten them settled carefully into the empty apartment adjoining his, supplying them with whatever he'd had around his own apartment that he thought might keep them occupied. He’d torn out a few blank pages from his journal and gave them to Jeremiah, along with a pencil, and left some of his props from work—the bendable magic wand and the bouquet of flowers that could be retracted into a jacket sleeve—for Jerome. Hoping that would keep them happy (and quiet, he didn’t want them to have to face a confrontation with the landlord) he’d been leaving them there for the past three days, checking in on them before he left in the morning and when he got home at night. During the latter times, if his mother had gone to bed, they would come into his apartment to watch _Live With Murray Franklin_ with him. 

But although Arthur had been giving them as much attention as he’d been able, he still worried they would feel neglected. And if he could work just marginally less tomorrow, maybe he would even be able to put in a bit of work around the vacant apartment and make it somewhat more livable. 

Fortunately, the next day seemed considerably lighter on work—it made sense, it was getting closer to winter, and all that remained was mostly indoor jobs like birthday parties, rather than side-of-the-road advertising work—and Arthur smiled, shouldering his bag. He was about to walk out the door when Randall’s voice stopped him.

“Hey, Arthur.”

He glanced back, still instinctively wary of the other man ever since the way the latter had acted the other day toward the twins. Randall paused to light his cigarette, the spark flickering weakly at the end of the lighter before catching, then looked up again.

“Can you take a job for me on Friday?” he asked, leaning back in the swivel chair he was sitting in. “Hoyt overbooked me, the stupid bastard, and I can’t do two jobs at once.”

Arthur knew perfectly well that was a lie. Randall rarely ever worked more than one gig a day, two if he was feeling generous, and Hoyt would have known better than to double-book him at this point. The more likely explanation was that Randall either didn’t want the job, or he wanted to skip out of work early, but Arthur didn’t try to argue the point. He couldn’t, not when they both knew he had Randall’s gun in an office where he definitely shouldn’t.

_Blackmail’s one hell of a weapon, _Arthur thought sardonically, never letting the compliant smile slip from his face. 

“Where’s the job?” he asked finally, picking up the broken piece of chalk sitting on the ledge beneath the blackboard to add yet another name to his list of gigs. Randall grinned, pleased with himself at having gotten out of work so easily, and nodded at the schedules.

“Gotham General. They’re puttin’ on a show for the kids there or something. Figured you’d take it, seeing as you're better with kids than me, anyway.” Now he was trying to soften the fact that he’d practically forced Arthur into doing the work for him…the latter was fully aware of Randall’s tactics, but he still could do nothing. 

“Okay.”

“It’s downtown. So you remember what I gave you.” Randall made a gun with his hand, pantomiming a shooting motion before glancing around to see if the one ancient security camera lodged in the upper corner of the room was turned on. “You gotta look out for yourself, y’know?”

Arthur was only half-listening, knowing it was just a continuation of Randall’s ploy, an attempt to make _him _look like the hero, protecting Arthur out of the goodness of his heart and not as a blackmail ruse to get out of work. But he nodded anyway, filling in the information on the new job to the column on the blackboard that had his schedule written on it. 

At least he didn’t mind working with kids.

\+ + + + + + + +

“It’s our birthday tomorrow.” 

Arthur turned away from where he had been carefully boarding up the cracked window of the vacant apartment. Jeremiah’s statement had come as a response to the former’s question as to how old the twins were. Normally, he would have believed it at face value, but he’d been learning quickly that the boy was almost unsettlingly skilled at lying. It was hard to identify whether something he said was the truth or not, especially when Jeremiah would look blankly at him with the innocent, unassuming expression he was so good at donning.

Jerome backed him up this time, though, which Arthur took to mean Jeremiah was telling the truth. “Yeah. We’re gonna be _ten.” _He was standing right next to Arthur, watching him work, blissfully unaware he was very much underfoot at the moment. Arthur didn’t have the heart to tell him to move, and anyway, the redhead didn't take up too much space. “Both of us."  
“Obviously.” Arthur could practically hear Jeremiah rolling his eyes from behind them both. He was sitting crosslegged on the floor amid the few tattered blankets Arthur had been able to find for them, watching the process of the window being boarded up as he rested his chin in his hands contemplatively.

“Ten, huh? That’s exciting.” Arthur commented, interjecting into the conversation before Jerome could be annoyed at his brother’s patronizing tone. 

“Not really.” Jeremiah said bluntly. “It’s just a birthday.”

Arthur, who had in that moment formulated a plan to get them both gifts, small as they might be due to his ever-dwindling bank account, shrugged. “Two birthdays. That’s gotta be something special, right?”

“Mom didn't think so.” Jerome muttered beneath his breath, kicking the edge of a piece of plywood that lay on the floor. Arthur’s gaze darted over to him, immediately on the alert whenever he heard even a hint as to where they had come from, but the redhead said nothing more. When he looked up, his blue eyes were clouded with something dark and almost frightening. There was so much pent-up rage glowering beneath the surface, stronger than Arthur would ever have expected in a child. 

Jeremiah, who hadn’t heard his brother’s momentary contribution to the conversation, sighed. “Do you have more paper? I’m bored.” He had already drawn over ever square inch of the notebook paper Arthur had given him, outlines of intricate mazes that were admittedly impressive for anyone who wasn’t a seasoned architect. The pencil he’d been given was worn down too, the eraser chewed off at the end. 

“I’ll look for some more.”

The redhead looked surprised that his request hadn’t been turned down, and gave Arthur a small smile, habitually pushing his glasses further up on his face. “Oh. Thanks.”

“Are you working tomorrow?” Jerome asked, losing interest in the window and going to join his brother. Arthur looked over his shoulder at them.

“Yeah.” 

“Where?”

“Gotham General Hospital. They want a show for the kids there.” Arthur mentally reminded himself not to forget the gun. The hospital was downtown, and he would have to walk back to the subway at night. If he was a target for being jumped in the middle of the day, then he was doubly so at night, when there was no one else around. He didn’t want to think about why he was so fixated on bringing the gun…it wasn’t like he would really _use _it.

_It’s about intimidation, _he told himself, trying to be satisfied with that answer. _They won’t mess with you if they see you have…_

“Are you taking the subway?” Jeremiah asked, and Arthur started, wondering if the boy had read his mind. But no, it was more innocent than that. The kid was just interested in how the subway worked…he’d obviously never been on one until a few days before, when Arthur had taken them to work with him. And he had shown the same fascination with the elevator…he just wanted to learn more about them. 

_You’re the one being paranoid._

_ Just calm down._

“Yeah, I’m taking the subway.” he answered, brushing his hands off on his shirt as he stepped back to survey the boarded-up window, and swallowing the nervous laugh rising in his throat.

_Stop worrying._

_ You’re always worrying._

His instinctual thought was to remember the words his mother always told him. How he was supposed to make other people happy. How that should make him happy, too.

Arthur wanted to laugh at that. Genuinely laugh, because it was ridiculous.

_Guess there’s only so much happiness to go around in this world._

\+ + + + + + + + 

He pulled his sweater closer around his thin shoulders, shivering in the bitter cold wind that swept past. The early morning sky was a bleak grey, washed out and dark from the rain that had pounded on the rooftops of the city the night before. He had gotten up extra early this morning, having checked on the twins, who had been still asleep when he’d left—huddled together in the corner of the empty apartment and hidden beneath the blankets Arthur had given them—and was currently hurrying in the opposite direction of the subway station. Polluted, half-melted ice tarnished the sides of the street, and Arthur was careful to step over it, not wanting to slip and fall on his face in the middle of the crowded sidewalk.

He didn’t need anymore bad luck heading his way for a while. Just a few days of contentment was all he wanted…it wasn’t much to ask for.

Fortunately, he navigated the ice successfully, and turned down a narrow alley that led to the outskirts of the city. In the distance, the tip of a circus tent, spiraling up to a narrow point, loomed above the rooftops. Arthur nodded in satisfaction, his pace unconsciously quickening once he was alone in the alley, and he glanced over his shoulder out of paranoid habit, just in case the twins had decide to follow him without his knowledge.

But he didn’t need to worry…he was alone.

Arthur frowned in confusion as he made it out of the alley and was able to clearly see the circus ahead of him, only a few remaining buildings blocking the way. He’d expected it to be brimming with activity, a hive of commotion and visitors, but it looked almost abandoned. If it wasn’t for the occasional worker passing by, casting quick glances at one another when their paths met, he would have thought it had been out of commission for a long time. Even the smaller tents, booths, and trailers that he could now see in front of him looked dimmed and almost desolate, their colors not quite as bright as he’d expected, and none of the sort of entertainers he’d been anticipating.

And not a single visitor in sight.

A flash of yellow fluttering in the wind caught Arthur’s eye, and he turned to see a shredded remnant of police tape caught on the edge of a wire fence. As if the place had been blocked off a short while ago. But it couldn’t be the circus itself, could it? Had something happened here? That couldn’t be right…he would have heard something about _that _on the news that played continuously over the old radio they kept in the break room at work. Especially if the police had gotten involved with something…

“Hey, you!” A sharp voice broke through his thoughts, and Arthur’s gaze jerked up to see a tall, heavyset man with dark red hair and a button-down short sleeved shirt partially undone staring at him. The man scowled when Arthur noticed him, and leaned against the wooden post he’d been in the middle of unearthing from where it had been staked into the ground. “Whaddya want?”

“I…” Arthur felt the familiar burning of laughter in his throat, and swallowed hard. That was just one more thing he didn’t need right now, especially in a conversation with a guy who looked like he barely needed an excuse to beat Arthur up if he annoyed him. Holding his breath for a moment and fiercely berating himself in advance for any sort of laughing fit that may overtake him, Arthur spoke slowly. “I wanted to see…” _Don’t. Don’t laugh._ “W-wanted to see if you…if the circus was still open.” Clenching his hands into fists and digging his nails into his palms to distract himself from the stifling pressure in his chest from the repressed laughter, Arthur stared at the man, waiting for a response.

“What’s it look like?” the man gestured to the dismal surroundings before resuming his job excavating the wooden stake. Arthur presumed it was from a tent that had been packed away, confirming his assumption.

“It looks like you’re leaving.”

“Yeah, great job, genius.”

“So you’re moving to another city?” He kept his voice soft, still holding back unwanted laughter. The man snorted.

“Didn’t hear about the murder, did ya?” 

Arthur’s eyes widened in shock, and he took a step back. “Murder?” he echoed, and the man rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, you heard me.” He paused. “Guess the cops were tellin’ the truth when they said it wouldn’t get out to the press.”

“What murder?” Arthur pursued the topic, his purpose of going to this place nearly forgotten. The man sighed, turning his attention back to his job.

“You’re not a reporter, are you, buddy? Cause circus folk, you know how they can be.” Arthur didn’t, and he waited silently for an explanation. The man was quick to oblige. “Cutthroat, they are. You spill their secrets, give ‘em bad press, and well, that’s a death sentence for you.” There was no way to tell if he was serious or not, but his words were startlingly matter-of-fact, and Arthur shuddered.

“No, I’m not a reporter. I…I’m actually…” What was it about this guy? Arthur could barely get a word out without wanting to run away. There was something about the man that set him on edge, reminded him of something he couldn’t piece together, only knew he didn’t like it. _You’re getting more and more paranoid by the day. Get ahold of yourself. _“I work at a clown agency in the city, and I just thought I’d see what sort of stuff you guys were doing here. I…I didn’t know there had been a murder.”

“Well, now you know.” the man said gruffly. Arthur could see anger building in his eyes and took a step back. He felt the back of his sweater catching on the wire fence and reached up to disentangle it, but kept his distance from the man. 

“Who…uh, do you mind if I ask what happened?” he asked hesitantly, remembering suddenly why he’d come here in the first place. A jolt of realization rushed through him when he thought about it…if this was where the twins were from, they must have known about the murder. His heart twisted at the thought.

“You sure you ain’t a reporter?” The man’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Arthur shook his head vehemently. 

“No, I’m not. I just…well, like you said, there wasn’t anything in the papers or the radio about it, so I was just wondering…”

“The snake dancer.” he interrupted, the anger in his eyes flashing now. There was something familiar about his eyes that Arthur couldn’t place. “Lila Valeska.” Before Arthur could say anything to that, he added, “My sister.”

“Oh.” Arthur breathed, wishing he could feel sympathetic. That was likely why the guy was angry…his own sister had been killed. But he couldn’t bring himself to truly care; he didn’t know the man, and he didn’t know the snake dancer, and truth be told, he honestly didn’t care. However, he’d learned many times before that people didn’t appreciate impassiveness like that, so he forced himself to give the man a look that he hoped passed as sympathy. "That's a shame.”

“Yeah, no shit.” the man retorted, and Arthur flinched, wondering if his guise of empathy had been unsuccessful. “But I don’t see why you care.”

Careful to not mention either of the twins’ names, Arthur twisted his hands together. “It was just…surprising to hear. I didn’t know anything about it until now.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that. Which makes me think you’re diggin’ for information.” The man paused in his work to wipe sweat from his face. His red hair stuck up on the back of his head, and he made no move to fix it. “If I find out you’re gonna give us bad press, you’re gonna end up knowing what a long drop from a roof feels like, ya get me?” Arthur nodded. “Good. So keep your mouth shut about this. Us circus folks can’t afford stories like that goin’ around.”

“I know. I wouldn’t dream of—”

“Anyway, we’re getting outta here before the cops start diggin’ too deep, you know? I’m not sayin’ she had enemies around here,” the man’s strangely familiar blue eyes flitted back and forth appraisingly, and Arthur knew he didn’t believe his own words, “but folks can get nasty when they want to. All it takes is wrong place, wrong time, a one night stand gone south, and boom, you gotta deal with murder. Haly’s can’t get that kinda bad reputation, we got enough problems as it is.”

“Haly’s?”

“Yeah.” The man nodded to a banner strung up between two abandoned game booths by what had likely been the entrance to the circus grounds before it had been closed down. “Haly’s Circus. Can’t ya read?”

Arthur didn’t answer that. He was too busy trying to figure out a way to learn more about the twins without outright asking about them and risking someone coming back to take them away. The conversation had gone in a very unexpected direction, and he’d certainly learned a lot, but not on the subject he’d wanted to.

“Um,” he began, frantically piecing together a series of questions that wouldn’t be too obvious, but before he could say anything, the man broke in again, talking mostly to himself now.

“Least we don’t got any witnesses around to cause trouble.” he was saying, practically ignoring Arthur at this point, whom he’d apparently deemed not important enough to worry about spreading news of the murder. “No one ‘round here who cared enough. And her two brats ran off, so we don’t hafta worry about _them.”_

Arthur’s attention snapped back to the conversation immediately. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” The man rolled his eyes derisively. “Her kids hightailed it outta here the day after the cops found her body, and them and me were the only relatives she had left. She might as well not exist, y’know?”

“Her…your sister had kids?” The laughter was crawling back into his words now, and he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to suppress it this time. His thoughts were swirling discordantly in his head, too frantic to piece together into anything cohesive. Panic was crawling at the edge of his every emotion, and he was sure his face was giving him away. Turning his gaze to the ground, he studied the dead grass around his feet and gritted his teeth to hide the laughter catching in his throat.

“Yeah. Twins. I don’t know where they disappeared off to, but they won’t get far.” The man shook his head, not a hint of remorse in his expression. “You’re from the city, I’m guessing. You know what it’s like there.”

Arthur shuddered, trying to keep from staring.

_That’s why his eyes are familiar._

_ If his sister was killed, that makes him their uncle._

And that meant…it meant that their mother…

_Their mother was murdered._

Arthur hadn’t been able to muster up sympathy for the man, but it was almost unbearable to think about the twins losing their mother. And it was even more confusing…in the momentary slip Jerome had made the day before, when he’d murmured something about how their mom hadn’t cared about their birthday, he hadn’t seemed sad at all. 

He had seemed _resentful._

Angry.

This whole thing was becoming an unsolvable knot that he couldn’t begin to untangle. Arthur resisted the urge to press his hands to the side of his face to ward off the headache that was coming along with thinking about the situation.

“Well,” he finally said, his voice much too quiet and much too uncertain, “I have…I have places to be, so I’d better get going.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, ducking his head so he wouldn't have the look the man in the eyes. “Sorry for bothering you.”

The man said nothing in return, and Arthur hurried off, not able to muster up enough courage to look back. He barely felt like he was breathing as he escaped via the alleyway and all but ran toward the subway station.

It was too much to think about, and he tried to put it out of his mind for the moment. He just wanted to get through the day, finish up the job with that gig for the kids at Gotham General, and then get home. Home, where he could think.

He knew he was going to be late to work, and Hoyt would yell at him for it. But Arthur could give him an excuse easily enough…the subway had been slower than usual, or the train schedule had been off and it had come early. It wouldn’t keep Hoyt from being mad, but at least it wasn’t grounds for being fired. And anyway, Arthur was used to his boss giving him trouble. Hoyt went for the easy targets, people he could let his anger out on without worrying about retaliation. Guys like Randall, he wouldn’t mess with, but…

Arthur’s shoulders stiffened, and his train of thought broke off suddenly as his mind rushed back to the conversation he’d just left back at the circus.

_Randall._

The man had reminded him of Randall.

He wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt so cold, or why his hands were balled into fists so tight that the circulation in his fingers was nearly cut off. 

He boarded the subway silently, clutching the carpetbag with his costume and props close to his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There WILL be spoilers for Joker in this fic going forward, although it'll diverge from canon there'll still be a lot of aspects of the movie, so if you don't want spoilers, read no further ;) 
> 
> (also if you haven't seen the movie but are going to keep reading this fic, you may want to look up a summary of the plot because I'm assuming most of the folks reading this have seen Joker or know the plot so I don't really go into details of some things from the movie, which could be confusing if you haven't seen it...just a heads-up!)

**Chapter Four**

_You’re fired._

_You’re fired._

The words rang in his head, over and over, searing into his thoughts like acid. Arthur shut his eyes for a moment as he trudged down the street, shoulders slumped and head hanging low. Trying to block out the memory of that awful phone call from Hoyt, the way he’d felt cold dread creeping over him even before his boss had asked about the gun, the way he’d nearly—_so _nearly—mentioned Randall’s name, but had hesitated. 

The way the call had ended with a click on the other line, loud in his ear, like the sound of an empty pistol barrel when he pulled the trigger against the side of his head. 

_You’re fired._

In Gotham City, it meant more than that.

_You’re dead._

He couldn’t get a job anywhere else. He could barely get away with the clown act, and that was only because his laughing fits would seem _almost _normal if it happened during a gig. And besides, this was the only place he’d ever worked. He had no references, no past experience, not even a good word from his boss.

Because he’d been stupid enough to bring a loaded _gun _into a children’s ward in a goddamn _hospital._

Arthur flicked the cigarette butt that dangled between his fingers into a nearby pile of black trash bags, each one spilling over onto the sidewalk. 

_You’ve got nothing._

Three mouths to feed at home—he wasn’t even going to count his own at this point—an apartment to pay rent for, electricity and water bills…

There was nothing he could do.

_You’re useless._

A choked, tortured laugh that sounded more like a sob broke from his throat. Arthur pressed the palm of his hand to his mouth, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. 

_You were gonna get them birthday gifts._

He wrapped his arms around himself and began walking faster, wanting nothing more than to get home to the comfort of the apartment—_that you can’t afford_—and think things through. Maybe talk to the twins about what he’d heard at the circus earlier (it seemed like a lifetime ago that he’d been there, talking to the red-haired man that he’d figured out was their uncle) to get his mind off things for the night.

If he could just get home, maybe he could figure out a way to fix this.

He started down the steps leading into the subway station, ignoring the wind that howled above him across the empty streets. The props in his carpetbag rattled against the sides on each step, and Arthur remembered he still had the gun inside. He paused, halfway down the stairs, and opened the bag, pulling out the pistol gingerly, and giving it a blank-eyed stare.

_If you had just told Randall you weren’t gonna take it…_

He shuddered.

Part of him wanted to throw it off into the shadows of the station and leave it there for someone else to find. It would be out of his hands, out of his mind. The reason he’d been fired, left behind for good.

Arthur pressed his lips together to hold back the laugh that rose up. 

_Like that’ll do any good._

Slowly, he lifted the gun, holding it numbly against the side of his head. The cold cylindrical end of the barrel pressed against his temple, and Arthur breathed in deeply, feeling almost comforted for an odd moment. One finger neared the safety latch and almost clicked it open.

_Fired…_

_ Fire the gun…_

_ You’re fired, you’re gonna fire it, you deserve…_

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. For a moment, his grip wavered, indecisive. Then he shoved the gun back into the bag and continued down the steps. His face was a rigid mask of seriousness, suppressing the nervous laughter that rang in his head, taunting him, begging to be let out.

He could still feel the cold pressure of the pistol barrel along the side of his face. Like a phantom reaching out an icy hand to touch him.

Arthur stepped onto the train platform and glanced down the dark tunnel. The sound of the subway approaching in the distance was no more than a faint rumble, but it was enough to distract him for a moment or so.

He closed his eyes again, letting the noise fill his senses as he stood there.

_Just get home. That’s all you have to do._

_ Then you can try to fix this._

_ Fix what?_

_ Where are you gonna go?_

The dark clouds in his mind were becoming stronger by the minute. Creeping over everything almost maliciously, and Arthur didn’t know how to stop them.

Everything was just so _bad._

When the train stopped and the rusted doors slid open with a prolonged laborious creak, Arthur stepped inside, taking a seat at the far end of the car. There were three guys at the other end, their murmured voices not even registering in his brain as he was dragged deeper into thought. There was a girl, too, but none of them bothered to look up at Arthur, and he was glad for that.

He stared down at the bag in his arms and hoped the driver of the train wouldn’t make any stops before they got to the station closest to home.

Before the darkness in his mind took over entirely.

\+ + + + + + + + +

“I’m _bored.”_ Jerome was lying flat on his back on the ground, staring up at the ceiling. Jeremiah gave him a narrow-eyed glance, having had to deal with his brother spending the better part of the past two hours echoing the same lament over and over again, in between drumming his heels on the floor incessantly and, at one point, trying to climb up the beams of wood covering the boarded-up window like some kind of strange ladder. To be fair, Jeremiah was bored too, but at least, he thought with more than a little self-pity, he wasn’t annoying his twin about it. 

“It’s not like I can help with that.” he replied, his tone maddeningly reasonable. Now it was Jerome’s turn to look annoyed.

“Well, good, cause I wasn’t asking you to.”

“I know.”

“I know that you know.”

“Good.”

“So shut up.”

“You shut up.”

Jerome rolled over onto his stomach, looking ready to spring to his feet and attack his brother without warning. “You’re being _mean.” _Jeremiah gave him an icy stare.

“Just stop complaining.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” 

“Jerome—” 

“Hey,” Jerome got up, losing interest in the argument. “Wanna go wait for Artie at the subway? He’s probably coming home from work now.”

Jeremiah frowned. “You don’t know how to get there.”

“No, but _you _do.” Jerome said confidently, and his twin sighed. “C’mon, broski, I know you can memorize that stuff. I’ll betcha you know exactly how to get there, don’t you?”  
Jeremiah gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I’m not…”

“Come _on.” _Jerome interrupted, reaching out to grab his brother’s wrist and pull him to his feet. “It’s better than being bored in here. We’ve been stuck in this crummy building all _week."_

“But what if someone finds us?” Jeremiah’s voice dropped down to nearly a whisper, and he gripped Jerome’s hand tighter, almost desperately. “What if they haven’t left the city yet?”

“They won’t find us.” His twin sounded more confident than he felt, and Jeremiah could see the uncertainty in his eyes. “They don’t even _know, _Miah.” The words were forceful, as if he himself was trying to believe them too. 

“They could.” the other redhead argued. “They could have figured it out.”

“Okay, fine. But what would they do, anyway? They won't tell the cops, remember?" Jerome lowered his voice, almost mockingly. “Bad publicity for _them.”_

“Jerome, I don’t know…”

“They can’t do anything to us. Even if they did find us.” He was starting to believe his own words, tentative as he may have been. Jeremiah shook his head.

“But if…what if Uncle Zach finds us…” His voice was beginning to tremble, and Jerome refused to look at him. “I wish we’d never…”

“No.” His brother’s head jerked up, and their eyes met. “You don’t wish _anything._ You don’t want to go back.” He paused, holding so tightly onto Jeremiah’s hand that the other winced. “_We_ don’t want to go back.”

“I know, but—”

“She got what she deserved.” Jerome was speaking in nearly a whisper now, and Jeremiah wrenched his hand out of his brother’s grasp, pressing both hands to his ears as he shook his head. “She was gonna get it, one way or another. And it was always gonna be me and you, Miah. We _had _to do it.”

“That's not true.”

“It is true, and that’s not what’s bothering you.” Jerome looked at him closely, scrutinizingly. Practically reading his brother’s mind. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Miah. What’s _really _making you upset?”

“I don’t regret it.” Jeremiah glanced over at him, tears glistening in his blue eyes. “I don’t, Jerome.” His voice broke. “Wh-why don’t I regret it?”

“Because it’s what she deserved.” Jerome repeated, uncertainty breaking into his expression again. Despite his confident words, he’d had his doubts now and again on the subject. Even once or twice in the past week, he’d come close to feeling genuinely guilty about the whole ordeal. Real, _intense _emotions that broke through the apathy he’d been able to build up over the years. Somehow, hearing that Jeremiah, his twin who had always seemed to be so much more sensitive than him, so much more _emotional, _couldn’t make himself regret what they had done, was a comforting thought. Something like pride for his brother sparked in his chest. “That’s what it's about, isn't it? What you _deserve.” _He stepped closer, reaching into his pocket to produce a crumpled-up piece of newspaper, painstakingly torn out of a column of tabloid news. The minuscule header to the short article read: _Circus Snake Dancer Found Dead_. It was far from a front-page article, and likely that next to no one had seen it—after all, there were barely any specifics contained within the few lines—but it burned like fire in Jerome’s grasp. As if it was branding him with the mark of guilt. “And she deserved to die. You don’t have to regret it. Or try to feel like you do.”

“But that’s _wrong,_ Jerome.” Jeremiah said stubbornly. “It’s…it’s not supposed to be like this, is it? Shouldn’t I…shouldn’t we be _sorry?” _A tear rolled down his cheek, and Jerome reached out to brush it away.

“Nope. I don’t want to be sorry, anyway.” He laughed breathlessly as he stuffed the newspaper clipping back into his pocket, gaze darting back and forth with restless energy. Never fixing on one thing for a second. His entire body felt tense enough to snap, as it did whenever this subject was brought up. All the pent-up anger, the thirst for revenge that had been momentarily sated but still brimmed beneath the surface...it all came swarming back and he didn't know how to control it. Maybe that was even _more _abnormal than his brother's self-confessed lack of remorse, he thought, but so what? It wasn't like they could go back.

Jeremiah was watching him, pupils blown wide from the million emotions he was trying to combat. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn't seem as if he _could _speak, but he finally mustered up the capability to voice the words that had been hanging silently in the conversation between them, unspoken either out of fear or refusal to admit the cold reality.

“Jerome, we…” He drew a shuddering breath, wrapping his arms around himself. “We killed our _mother.”_

Jerome’s attention immediately fixated entirely on him, his dark blue eyes burning with a light that was both triumphant and defensive. Jeremiah flinched at the look, but couldn’t turn away. Neither of them said anything, and Jerome began pacing the room, hands clenching and unclenching into fists restlessly. Jeremiah sat down on the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest and staring blankly at the wall. Outside, the wail of a police siren rose up before fading again. Jerome cast an aggravated look at the boarded-up window. 

“And,” he said finally, with stubborn insistence laced into every word, “s_he deserved it._”

“Yes, but…”

Wordlessly, Jerome spun around on his heel, striding across the room and crouching down beside his brother, taking his arm in one hand and pulling up the sleeve of his shirt that hid the fading bruises mottling the pale flesh. “If someone hurts you,” he said between clenched teeth, “you hurt them back.”

Jeremiah disentangled himself from his brother’s grip and pulled his sleeve back down. “I still don’t feel sorry.” he whispered. “Not at all. I never was.”

“You’re not supposed to. It’s _logical_. And if anyone ever deserved what they got, it was _her_. That’s called fairness, Miah. You know that.”

“But we killed her.” It seemed to be the only thing he could return to, clinging onto that single truth almost possessively. Jerome nodded, like a teacher helping a student through a difficult question.

“Yes. We did. We _had _to. And it’s over now. It’s over for good, and you don’t have to be scared. Not scared of her, or Uncle Zach, or anyone at the circus, because they’re not gonna find us, and they’re gonna leave us behind _forever.”_

Jeremiah sighed shakily. “Will they?”

“They don’t even know we did it.” his twin said comfortingly. “And they don’t ever have to know.” 

The sound of traffic and street noise outside the blocked window rose up as they both remained quiet, listening to the sound of each other breathing. Jeremiah sniffed, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes with the backs of his hands, and Jerome sat down beside him, bumping their shoulders together. 

“So, you wanna go down to the subway and wait? You can tell Artie about the mazes you were drawing.” He poked at the sheets of paper that had been stacked neatly in the corner, and Jeremiah followed his gaze, setting his glasses back on his face.

“What if we can’t find him?” His voice was wobbly from residual tears, but he seemed calmer now. Jerome shrugged.

“Then we’ll come back here and wait.” He shot to his feet, dragging his brother behind him, mind made up. “Let’s go.”

Jeremiah followed him, scrambling to gather up some of the mazes he’d drawn before slipping out the door. They closed it softly behind them, and started down the hall to the elevator. 

\+ + + + + + + +

“Hurry up, Miah.” Jerome propelled his brother through the empty station, ignoring how the former slowed his pace, staring around with wide, admiring eyes at the sloping ceilings and heavy columns lining the sides of their path. They had been well-kept once, before the city had slid into the desolate state it was now in. Years of built-up dirt and graffiti were layered over each column, neon colors mixing haphazardly without any attempt at patterns or design. Jeremiah reached out a tentative hand to brush his fingers around the rounded surface of the nearest column, his gaze again straying up to the ceiling. 

“Who do you think designed this?” he asked, awe tinging his voice. He stopped following Jerome altogether, enthralled with their surroundings. “It’s so beautiful.”

“You saw it the other day.” 

He shook his head. “There were too many people. I didn’t _really _see it.”

“We’re gonna miss the train, and then we won't be able to find Artie.” Jerome tried to regain his attention. “You don’t wanna do that, do you?”

“No…”

“Then come _on.” _He started down the stairs that led to the level above the subway platform. There was still no one around, a fact they were both grateful for. Despite Jerome’s bravado and the meticulousness with which Jeremiah repressed his unease at being seen in the city, they both couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if they crossed paths with someone they knew. And being identical twins wasn’t doing them any favors in going unnoticed by anyone who could recognize…blending into the crowd wasn’t easy as it was, and when the threat of being discovered loomed over them, their wariness doubled. 

But at the moment, it was past rush hour and the station was empty. 

Their light footsteps echoed in the silence as they descended the stairs, pausing on the next floor before turning toward the final flight of steps that led to the platform itself. The final few stairs disappeared into darkness, with only a few faint glimmers of light flickering on and off in the depths. In the distance, the steady roar of the train on the tracks grew closer. Both twins hesitated, glancing at each other, and Jerome cracked a smile.

“Scaredy-cat.” he muttered, elbowing his brother in the ribs. Jeremiah scowled at him.

“_You _go down, then.”

“Why should I? It’s not like we’ll miss him. There’s no one else here.”

“You’re scared too.”

“Oh, so you admit that _you _are, then?”

“No, I just—”

There was a grinding on the rusty metal rails down by the platform below them as the train slowed to a stop, the noise interrupting their argument. But only for a moment, and Jerome picked up the conversation where it had left off, turning his back on the flight of stairs before them. Jeremiah took a step back, also looking away so he wouldn't have to meet his twin’s eyes and risk Jerome seeing the fear his own held. 

“C’mon, we were down there before, remember? And there were lots more people then. Now there’s no one, so you don’t even have to worry about _that.”_

Jeremiah ignored him, scrunching his face up in a frown as he turned to face the direction they had come from. Jerome, unfazed by his brother turning his back on him, followed close behind.

“So why’re you scared?”

“I’m not. I just don’t see why we need to—”

There was no warning when the first shot rang out, deafening in the quiet of the station.

The sharp crack seemed to split the air like a whip, echoes reverberating heavily all around them. There was no question that it had been a gunshot, and it had come from the platform down past the next flight of stairs.

Jeremiah grabbed his brother’s arm in a vise-like grip, his eyes wide with shock. Not even a single echo had faded away before the shot was followed by two others, than another, all in quick succession. They were accompanied by a man shouting unintelligibly, words garbled but obviously calling for help.

After the sound of the shots, the voice fell silent.

Jerome froze too, unable to turn to reassure his twin, who wouldn’t let go of him. 

They both stared in the direction of the sound, completely silent. Instinct took over everything else, and they knew the safest thing to do when danger was near was to stay out of the way. Stay as quiet as possible.

They both knew that tactic all too well.

But hiding from pistol shots was new. Neither one could decide what to do…the gunman had to be nearby, and they were the only others around. If someone saw them, it would be a death sentence.

Jeremiah was the first to move, tugging on his brother’s sleeve frantically. “J-Jerome…” His voice was pitched higher than normal, trembling on every syllable, but some of the shock had cleared from his eyes. “Jerome, we’ve gotta go…”

His brother shook his head, jerked out of his own terror by the familiarity of Jeremiah’s voice. Blinking quickly, he glanced over at his twin, taking hold of the hand that had latched itself onto his arm.

“Okay.” It was no louder than a whisper, and Jeremiah hadn’t seen his brother this shaken for a long while. At least not since they had left…

The sound of a final shot exploded in the heavy emptiness of the subway station, and they both flinched, glancing around for somewhere to hide. They were out in the open at the moment, standing at the top of the abandoned flight of stairs, a single light flickering overhead in the empty station. The sound had come from below, from down where the actual train had stopped, and now there was only silence. Not a single sound of anyone else around, not the faintest whisper of a footstep or a breath or a voice…

Almost as if they had been alone the entire time.

“It’s real.” Jeremiah muttered under his breath, shoulders tensing as a deeper fear flooded into his eyes. Stronger than the superficial, instinctive terror that had come with the sound of the shots. This fear was dark, laced with horrified doubt, and Jerome turned to see his brother staring hazily ahead of him, hands balled stoically into fists. “It’s _real.” _he whispered again, more forceful this time, and Jerome nodded quickly, reassuringly.

“It’s real, Miah.” His blue eyes scanned his twin’s face, searching. “It’s not your head makin’ stuff up, okay? It’s all really happening, and it’s bad, but it’s real. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Jeremiah blinked, suppressing a shudder, and turned to meet his brother’s gaze. “Are you sure?” he asked hesitantly, voice barely above the faintest whisper. “You’re sure it’s…” He broke off, pressing both hands to the sides of his face, trying to focus his thoughts. 

“I’m sure. I’m here too, remember? I’m hearing everything you are, and seein’ it too. I promise you.” He reached out to pry his twin’s hands away from his face, catching them in a tight grip. “It’s not all in your head.”  
“Okay.” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor. “But we—”

“We’ve got to get out of here, all right?” Jerome interrupted. “Who knows where that guy is now. And there’s no one else around here, so if he thinks we saw him…” He shrugged, the sentence completing itself without needing to be spoken. Jeremiah nodded.

“Where should we go?”

“Back home. To the apartment.” Jerome said decidedly. “And no one’ll know we were here in the first place.”

“Wait…” Jeremiah glanced over his shoulder just as his twin began dragging him toward the entrance of the station. “Wait, but what about Arthur?”

Jerome paused. “Hmm? What about him?”

“He’s gotta be down there.” Jeremiah’s eyes went wide as he realized the implications of his own words. “What if…what if something happened to him? What if…”

“What, you wanna go down there and see?” Jerome countered sharply, continuing toward the revolving glass doors of the station, marked with handprints and a layer of grime from the polluted city air. He glanced back at Jeremiah, who was lingering doubtfully behind, his attention caught between following his brother and returning back to where they had been before to wait for Arthur. Jerome sighed impatiently, the majority of his shock dissipating as concern for his twin took over and he stalked over to him. He didn’t even have time to ponder on what could have happened to their friend, he was so intent on getting out of the station unscathed. “What exactly would you plan on doing, Miah? Whatever happened down there, you can’t change it. You can’t help anyone. If you go look for him, you’re just gonna get yourself killed, okay?” Jeremiah didn’t even bother to look in his direction. Jerome frowned at him, casting another look at the station entrance. “Are you listening to me?”

“But…but he…”

“You can’t help him, Jeremiah.” Jerome hissed, desperation creeping into his tone. “We can’t do anything. Let’s just go, okay?”

He didn’t give him brother time to argue this time, only dragged him wordlessly out the doors and into the bitter cold air of the city at night.

\+ + + + + + +

The apartment door creaked open slowly. Jeremiah and Jerome, huddled in the corner, shoulder to shoulder, jumped at the sound and stared at the figure standing in the doorway. Silhouetted in the light from the hallway, it was impossible to identify who it was. The twins could feel their hearts beating in sync with one another, much too fast. 

For a long, agonizing moment, the figure didn’t move.

Then it stepped inside the apartment, closing the door behind it. 

“I was going to buy you birthday gifts.”

Jerome laughed hoarsely, the sound choking off in his throat. His brother's shoulders slumped in relief when he recognized the voice speaking, and the light coming in from the street lamps outside, creeping through the cracks in the boarded-up window, illuminated Arthur’s face, still smudged with clown paint from earlier in the day.

“Don’t sweat it.” Jerome’s reply came out a lot more unsteady than he’d intended. Laughter still clung to the edges of his words, but he was shaking. One hand was gripping his brother’s wrist tightly, and Jeremiah knew by his rigid frame that he had been prepared to jump to his feet and attack the intruder if it had been anyone but Arthur. They were both still shaken from what had happened at the station earlier that evening, and their nerves were already on edge. In fact, just seeing Arthur in the first place was jarring in and of itself. Although neither of them had admitted it aloud, they had begun to genuinely worry that the incident with the gunshots had involved their friend in some way, and that he might not return home.

“It’s not a big deal.” Jeremiah added, not looking at Arthur directly. Although he knew it was same man as always, the clown makeup that masked his face was still off-putting. It brought back too many memories that he would rather repress, would rather shove back into the darker recesses of his mind so he could ignore them a little while longer. 

Arthur sighed, leaning on one shoulder against the wall. “It was kind of a…busy day. I guess I forgot.” He was watching them carefully. “In any case, happy birthday.”

They were both silent for a moment, still processing the fact that he was there. Really there, and not dead on a subway platform as they had both unconsciously suspected. There was a faint tinge of uncertainty in Jeremiah’s eyes, and his gaze darted to Jerome more than once, almost as if he was trying to reassure himself that it was real, and the conversation was really happening. His twin caught the look and gave him a tiny nod. 

“By the way,” Arthur continued after the pause between them, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled a cigarette and lighter from his pocket and the flame hissed to light, “I got fired.” 

There was something odd about his tone. Something different, that neither twin could figure out. Jeremiah still kept his gaze fixed anywhere but on the clown makeup, but Jerome’s eyes narrowed as he studied Arthur’s shadow-draped figure on the other side of the room, tilting his head.

“Why?” Jeremiah asked, taking off his glasses to clean them on the edge of his shirt so he could avoid eye contact for as long as possible. Arthur glanced over at him, pocketing the lighter and letting the cigarette dangle between his lips as he leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the cracked, water-stained ceiling.

“A misunderstanding with my boss.” He drew in a long breath, sucking back in some of the smoke he’d just exhaled. “But you don’t need to worry about that.”

“Did someone get you in trouble?” Jeremiah pressed, oblivious to the fact that Arthur didn’t want to discuss the subject. The latter’s mouth drew into a thin line.

“Sort of.” He huffed out a laugh, and although it wasn’t a compulsive one, it was far from genuine. “But I’ve been in trouble there since my first day.” He spoke the words under his breath, too soft for either of the twins to hear.

“There’s blood on your shirt.” Jerome said suddenly, almost forcefully. He was still studying Arthur with narrowed eyes, and hadn’t said anything for a long while. For Jerome, that meant he was thinking deeply about something,

Arthur flinched at that declaration, and looked down at the yellow waistcoat he was wearing, guilt crossing his face. He disguised it a moment later, and it was impossible to distinguish one expression from another in the darkness he remained hidden in. “Oh.” He fumbled for a moment, then looked back up. “It’s, uh, just a stain.”

“It’s blood.” Jerome didn’t look away. Beside him, Jeremiah felt his twin tense up again, but not in a frightened way. He could almost feel the eagerness radiating from Jerome, growing stronger with every passing second, and shut his eyes for a moment.

Memories of a night in the very near past sprang to life behind his closed eyelids.

_Jerome laughing, his angular, freckled face spattered in blood that dripped down past his neck, staining his hands dark red, staining the blade of the axe he was wielding with both hands, gripping so tightly he may never let go…_

_ The weight of the axe in his own hands when his brother let him hold it, the way it felt so uncomfortably _right, _how he felt like he could wield it forever as a surge of energy rushed through his veins…_

_ And there was so much blood, it was everywhere, covering the both of them, and Jeremiah felt it clinging to his face, stinging his eyes, could taste the heavy copper flavor on his lips. It was all over everything, branding them with the mark of killers, reminding them all over again that this was the end, there was no going back, and they should feel sorry, they should feel so sorry, they should regret this…_

_ But they hadn’t._

Jeremiah clenched his hands into fists.

_Jerome’s laughter was too contagious to ignore. And even though it burned in his throat like fire, made his stomach twist from how wrong this was, how wrong it was that he didn’t feel remorse, not at all, and even though it hurt him to do it, he laughed along with his brother, ignoring the tears that stood in his eyes and mixed with the blood on his cheeks when they brimmed over. He didn't see it, but there were tears on Jerome’s face too, as his brother doubled over in desperate, fierce, triumphant mirth, reaching down to run one hand through the rivers of blood that were beginning to seep into the threadbare carpet of the trailer._

_ The axe still didn’t feel heavy in his hands at all._

_ He wished to God that it did._

“Probably from when some kids jumped me the other week.” Arthur said quietly, and Jeremiah’s eyes snapped open again, forcing himself to look up at the man despite the makeup that made his stomach twist, because it was better than memories. “That’s all.”

“Oh.” Jerome’s voice was equally quiet, an unusual occurrence for him. Jeremiah saw him still staring with an abnormal intensity in his blue eyes. “Okay.”

“You two should go to bed, in any case.” Arthur backed toward the door. “It’s late.”

“Arthur?” Jerome asked, head still tilted to the side contemplatively. There was something almost hypnotic about his tone, something Jeremiah found jarringly familiar.

_He's imitating you._

And just like that, the memories came crashing back.

He could see them sitting outside the trailer, shivering in the cold as they pressed their backs against the side of the metal wall, staring up at the grey sky of the late evening. 

And he could hear his own voice, speaking just as clear as if it had happened yesterday.

_“We could do it.”_

Jeremiah blinked, a tremor running through his small body.

_“We could do it, and then run away.”_

“What?” Arthur turned back, one hand gripping the door handle. Jerome was silent for a moment.

_“How?” Jerome stared at him intently, with none of the aversion Jeremiah had been expecting. Of course, he shouldn’t have expected it…in all honesty, it would have made more sense if Jerome had been the one to propose such an idea._

_ It felt like something he would come up with._

_ But then, they were twins. And, different as they were, they still thought the same. _

_ Jeremiah shut his eyes, blocking out the sight of the circus bustling all around them. The lights, the voices, the colorful figures were all too much for him. He preferred the darkness…he could hide there, could escape the ridiculousness of what he was suggesting._

_ But it was too late to retract his words now._

_ And besides, he didn’t want to._

“I was wondering if you took the subway home.” Jerome’s voice was soft, and still hypnotic. Jeremiah shuddered at the similarities. He couldn’t speak, even if he wanted to.

Arthur didn’t speak for a moment, and when he did, there was an uneasy edge to the single word he said aloud. “Why?”

“Oh, you know,” Jerome shrugged, trying to look worldly. Jeremiah wanted to roll his eyes. “They’re dangerous places.”

“So?”

“Do you need this stuff back?” the redhead asked suddenly, gathering up the few props Arthur had left behind for his entertainment. The man looked relieved that he’d changed the subject, and held out the carpetbag, opening it up.

“Thanks.”

Jerome got to his feet, crossing the room to deposit the props inside. Jeremiah watched it all silently, partially wondering what his brother had been trying to get at, partially knowing with absolute certainty.

He’d been testing the waters.

Letting the situation at the subway station cloud his judgement and fuel the insatiable flame in his mind that had been kindled by what they had done just barely a week before. Jerome had always been like that, always thirsting for power once he’d been given a taste of it, pushing his limits, trying to get on top in any way he could.

It was explainable. It made sense, Jeremiah knew…after a lifetime of what they had gone through, of course his brother would want to know what it was like to be the one in charge, for a change. And if he wasn’t going to do that in…well, in an exactly normal, or healthy, or _legal _way, then it still made sense. He wasn't going to argue with that…after all, he was just as guilty in the crime they’d committed.

Still, he couldn’t push away the cold uncertainty that settled over him as he watched Jerome’s face, noticed the brightness in his twin’s eyes, identical to his own.

_We were supposed to leave this all behind._

  
\+ + + + + + +

Arthur lit another cigarette, the sharp snapping sound of the lighter flicking closed a welcome relief in the stifling silence of the apartment. Outside, the muffled noise of traffic droned on as usual, but it was too far off, too impersonal to distract him from his thoughts. 

It had been a very, _very _strange day.

He wanted to laugh at that. _Strange? You killed three men. Shot them dead on a subway. They’ll all be looking for you in the morning. Your face’ll be plastered over every front page in the city._

He reached up to touch his face suddenly, remembering he was still wearing the costume greasepaint from work. A small smile quirked at his lips.

_Or maybe they’ll simply title the headline, “Nameless Clown Kills Three Wall Street Guys” and leave it at that._

The fact that he felt no remorse whatsoever was more than a bit worrying. And it was certainly something he would dedicate some thought to later on, but not right now. Not for awhile. Things had happened too fast, and he couldn’t let himself ponder over them for too long, otherwise he knew he really might snap. 

So instead, he let his mind distract itself.

He thought back to earlier that night. How he’d spoken with both the twins—_and you still didn't get them birthday gifts_—thought about how they’d looked at him with so much _knowing _in their eyes. But somehow, it was a different kind of knowing for both of them. Jerome had been probing, trying to force answers out of him. Not caring what they would be. Jeremiah had looked more cautious, but not scared. Not of Arthur, at least.

_But they can't know. There’s no way. There’s no way they’d be able to figure it out._

They were just kids. 

Arthur sighed, taking another drag from the cigarette and watching the smoke swirl its way up to the ceiling.

_You didn't even tell them what you found out from the circus._

Well, there would be time for that in the future. 

He reached one hand down into the carpetbag at his feet, searching blindly for the gun that he’d tossed back inside after what had happened on the subway, and froze.

It wasn't there.

Eyes going wide, Arthur dragged the bag up into his lap, sorting through the props inside and trying to keep them from clanging into one another and waking up his mother in the next room. With bated breath, his gaze darted back and forth, searching nervously, but came up with nothing. The gun wasn’t inside, and there was no way to say how long it had been gone. If it had fallen out, if he had simply _thought _he’d put it inside, if someone had stolen it…

Arthur drew a shuddering breath.

He had to breathe. His therapist always told him to breathe.

Harsh laughter rose in his throat and Arthur pressed both hands to his mouth, so hard that he thought he might bruise his own face. Waiting until the feeling had passed, he resumed searching through the carpetbag, but he already knew it was pointless.

The gun was gone.

And it could be anywhere. With his fingerprints. At the location of his crime. The bodies he killed. 

Arthur ran both hands through his hair, cigarette clenched between his teeth. Just like that, without warning, his worry bled out again. He felt drained from the sudden surge of adrenaline, but he wasn’t scared anymore. 

Why should he be?

He closed his eyes, letting the flavor of the smoke linger in his mouth before he exhaled.

_This is Gotham City. Chances are, no one’s even gonna care about what you did._

\+ + + + + + + +

Moonlight crept weakly through the slats of the boards that covered the window, falling across the floor. Jerome blinked, rolling over onto his side so he was facing away from his sleeping twin, who was curled up against his back. Jeremiah had been asleep for awhile, and, if his steady, calm breathing was any indication, he would stay asleep for the rest of the night.

Silently, Jerome reached under the pile of blankets they had situated into a makeshift bed, pausing for a moment before he pulled out the item he’d hidden there earlier. Almost as if he was afraid of someone watching him.

The tarnished silver of the pistol barrel reflected the moonlight that fell across it, and Jerome carefully brushed one hand across it. 

He pulled the hammer to release the safety catch as quietly as possible, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he didn't wake up his brother.

“Empty.” he whispered, before letting his hand curl around the entirety of the gun, one finger hovering over the trigger. Slowly, he turned the barrel to face him, staring down at it curiously. “You’re not a prop.” A whispered giggle caught at the end of his words, and he set down the gun carefully again, laying back down on his side and looking at the weapon beside him.

_There never was a prop. It was always a real one._

He hummed softly to himself, then shoved the pistol back under the blankets, making sure not a single part of it stuck out. 

_And if it used to have bullets in it, well…_

Jerome let his eyes droop shut.

_It’s empty now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are life ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter, whoops
> 
> (also I know I tagged it, but there's violence in this one for anyone who's not a fan of that)

**Chapter Five**

A soft, almost inaudible knock sounded outside the front door of Arthur’s apartment, and he sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes. For a moment, he couldn’t quite place where he was, but a glance at the digital clock, glowing numbers revealing that it was only two in the morning, reminded him. He paused for a moment, wondering with a little bit of nervousness why someone might be at his door right now.

It was followed by _much _more nervousness when he remembered what had happened on the subway that very night.

_They’re here for you, _his thoughts whispered sharply, and Arthur automatically reached for one of the cigarettes sitting on the side table, scuffling for the lighter and holding both with trembling fingers as his eyes never left the door. _They’re here for you, and they’re gonna take you away, and you won’t see your mother again, you won’t see the twins again, an oh God, who’s gonna take care of them…_

His eyes darted to the window, halfway wondering if he should risk the jump and try to escape.

_Idiot. You’re on the fourth floor. You’d break every bone in your body._

Arthur drew a shuddering breath, turning back to the door. It had fallen silent, and part of him wondered if it really was the police on the other side. Wouldn’t they be…well, a bit more forcible, if they knew a proven murderer was living in the apartment? Wouldn’t they simply barge in and cart him off to prison, instead of knocking politely and softly, almost too quiet for him to have heard?

Little by little, his paranoia was beginning to fade away.

_No, it can’t be them._

Another timid knock, even quieter than the first if it were possible, broke the silence, and Arthur got up, steeling himself for whatever stood on the other side. It if _was _the cops, he was in trouble…he had no alibi, no excuse, no story he’d been able to fabricate to prove he hadn’t been the one to kill those Wall Street guys. Because he _had, _and the realization was still so fresh in his mind that it drowned out his ability to think clearly on anything else.

Slowly, he slid the chain lock out of place and turned the door handle, cracking it open the slightest bit and peering out. All the nerves fled from his body in that moment, and he almost broke into laughter—genuine relieved laughter. Instead, all he gave was a breathy chuckle, and extinguished the cigarette against the wall, leaving a trail of ashes where it had been. 

“Jerome.”

“Hi.” the boy said solemnly, and Arthur paused for a moment, wondering if he’d mistaken Jerome for his twin. He _sounded_ more like Jeremiah, in any case…there was none of the carefree, worldly look that he seemed so fond of donning, and none of the confidence he usually exuded. Instead, his expression was laden with wariness and no small amount of doubt, and Arthur tilted his head.

He almost began to believe that maybe it was Jeremiah standing there, but then he realized the boy didn’t have a scratch on his arm from the alleged alleycat mishap that had led to their paths crossing in the first place, and nodded to himself. It _was _Jerome, but something was bothering him…something strong enough to make him creep over to the apartment in the middle of the night, and to gather so much uncertainty in his wide blue eyes, heavy from lack of sleep.

“What’s the matter?” Arthur asked, a million possibilities flashing through his mind. Jerome was silent for a moment, fiddling with something he was hiding behind his back, then he looked up, meeting the man’s eyes. There was something desperate hidden in his expression, and Arthur felt his heart twist.

_What’s wrong?_

“I know it was you.” Jerome murmured, his small frame tensing as he was expecting some sort of physical blow for the statement. Arthur didn’t move. “I know you were the one that did it.”

“What?” The word came out much less confident than he’d intended, and Arthur felt his heart beat faster, his senses going numb with sudden horror at the dawning realization. “What are you talking about?”

Jerome shivered, looking away again, then forced himself to turn his gaze back. Arthur could see defiance shining in his eyes, a dare to lay a hand on him, and stepped back. The last thing he wanted was for the kid to be scared right now. Scared of _him, _no less…that was even worse.

He tried to soften his tone and speak up again when Jerome didn’t answer. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He knelt down to the boy’s eye level, holding out both hands to show he was unarmed and unthreatening. “You know I’d never do that.”

With one quick, frightened move, Jerome disentangled his hands from behind his back and shoved the object he was holding at Arthur. “It’s not a prop.” he whispered, voice choking off as he struggled to maintain eye contact. “You…you said it was a prop.”

Arthur caught the pistol in one hand, holding it out like it was a dead animal, and stared helplessly, wide-eyed. _No. No, this can’t be happening. He can’t…_

_ He’s going to leave. They’re going to leave._

“You don’t—” he began, but Jerome interrupted.

“We were there. At the station. Waiting for you.”

Cold fear swept over Arthur and he sucked in a sharp breath.

_Oh._

_ Oh, no._

“And I know you killed someone.” Jerome’s voice was toneless. Arthur was speechless with horror. “Miah doesn’t think so, because he doesn’t want to believe that, and I didn’t say anything to him, but…” He shook his head. “I know you did it.”

“Please, listen to m…”

“I didn’t care.” His voice was still no higher than a whisper. “I…I didn’t care that you did it. I wasn’t even gonna tell you I knew. Cause I didn’t care. Even when I took the gun.” He was trembling uncontrollably now, but the defensive fire in his eyes had grown stronger. “But…but I started thinking…” 

“Jerome, I can explain this.” He couldn’t, but he had to say something. Had to stop this.

“I started thinking about what else you could do.” Jerome broke in again. He stared hard at Arthur, a protective light in his eyes. Arthur knew immediately who it was for. “And I started thinking if…if you would do a-anything to Miah…” His small hands clenched into fists, eyes darting back and forth from Arthur’s face to the gun and back again, “I can’t let you do that.”

“Oh _no, _Jerome…Jerome, don’t even say that.” His voice rose with panic for a moment, and he swallowed the nervous laugh that caught in his words. “I wouldn’t…I would never…” He paused, biting down hard on his lip and trying to gather the right words. “I would never hurt either one of you. No matter what. I _couldn’t.”_ It was the truth, perhaps the most honest words he’d ever spoken, and he fiercely hoped that Jerome would see that. 

“You killed people.” The redhead’s voice was small, and he shuffled his feet against the scuffed floor of the hall. “And I gotta…I gotta take care of him.” He didn’t even seem concerned with his own safety in the least—just moments ago, he’d told Arthur to his face that he couldn’t care less that the men on the subway had been killed, even if it was Arthur who had done it, but his protective nature toward his twin was so strong that he’d broken out of the apathy he’d seemed to have toward the whole situation. 

And he truly seemed to believe Arthur would be capable of hurting either of them. 

_No. He can’t believe that. He can’t. I wouldn’t._

“Please,” he murmured, wishing he could reach out to the boy but knowing it would probably spook him and he’d run off. He set down the gun, pushing it back behind him into the darkness of the apartment, out of sight. “Please listen to me.”

“I told him I was always gonna protect him.” Jerome interrupted again. “And he believes it. He always does. He’s a liar sometimes, but he believes _me._ I can’t let you—” He trailed off, shaking his head blankly. 

“You’re safe here, Jerome. You’ll always be safe here. Someone’s got to keep you out of the hands of the folks at the circus…” His words faltered, and he tensed, noticing how Jerome’s wary expression turned immediately hostile. His blue eyes narrowed dangerously, and he backed away until he was pressed agains the opposite wall of the hallway. 

“What did you say?” His voice was low. Arthur froze, at a loss for words. 

_Oh great, now you’ve screwed up even worse._

He hadn’t meant to say anything about what he’d found out in regard to the circus and where they had come from. At least, not for a while. And not until he’d figured out his own life, which had become lightyears more complicated after the incident at the subway. In fact, although his curiosity regarding the twins was nearly at the breaking point and he longed for answers, part of him didn’t want to tell them he knew at _all._

But now he’d ruined it for himself. 

_Idiot._

Jerome was still looking at him with a haunted expression in his eyes, watching Arthur silently. _Dangerously_. Arthur shuddered. He was still just a child, but there was something so deeply unnerving about the look on his face that made him seem like more than that. Something frightening and merciless and…

And almost _murderous._

“I…” He could barely speak the single word, and it died off before he could finish the sentence. Jerome’s face twisted into a scowl, and utter betrayal swept through his expression.

“You said you wouldn’t ask.” he whispered hoarsely, drawing his shoulders up and wrapping both arms across his chest like he was cold. “You said…”

“I know. And I didn’t.” Arthur stared helplessly at him. “I didn’t ask you, or your brother, right? I didn’t ask you anything.”

“Then how do you know?” His voice quivered, and it was the first time Arthur had seen Jerome look to be on the verge of a genuine breakdown. He was always the self-assured twin, the one who could at least pretend to be confident even if he was afraid. But now he looked close to tears, and Arthur remembered he was only ten years old, and running away from an entire world that was all he’d ever known. Of _course _he was scared…who wouldn’t be? And all Arthur was doing was making it worse.

_You should never have gone looking for answers._

“I thought that if I could figure out the truth, then I could help you.” He had to force himself to say the words aloud. “I could…I could protect you from anyone who might try and find you. Take you back. I couldn’t stand to think of that.”

“How do you _know?” _Jerome persisted. “Who told you?” His expression darkened. “If Jeremiah said something…”

“No, it wasn’t him.” Arthur interrupted hurried, wanting to spare the other twin from the beat-down that would surely come from Jerome if he was led to believe that. And besides, Jeremiah was the more cautious of the two. He would never say anything. “I…found out myself. Went to the circus before they left. I…I’m assuming they’re gone now, they seemed ready to leave.” It felt like so long ago. Centuries ago. Arthur could hardly believe it had just been the day before. 

“You _went _there?” Jerome echoed, eyes sparking with anger. “You…” He didn’t finish, but Arthur could predict what he had been going to say.

_You weren’t supposed to know._

“I didn’t tell them anything. I wouldn’t do that. They had no idea who I was, and they didn’t ask questions. Certainly not about you. Either of you.”

Jerome was shaking his head, beginning to back away. “Who…who did you…”

“It doesn’t matter.” Somehow, Arthur got the feeling that bringing up that he knew the man he had spoken to was the twins’ uncle would only make matters worse. “The point is, they don’t know where you are. I promise.”

“So what were you trying to find out?” Jerome’s voice was sharp, accusing, and his jaw was clenched furiously. Arthur frowned, silently admonishing himself for his misstep. Things were already precarious between them right now, and he had just tipped the scales decidedly out of his favor. 

“I don’t really know.” he said slowly. “It’s just that I don’t know anything about either one of you—”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be.” the boy spat, anger replacing the fear in his eyes. “You were never supposed to know.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. Did the twins really trust him so little, even before Jerome had found out about the subway? Did they really believe he would have forced them to return to a place that they were so clearly afraid of? The people they were trying to escape? 

“I wasn’t going to do anything.” Arthur murmured, trying to ignore the pained laughter crawling up his throat. “I wasn’t going to tell them anything, and I wasn’t going to make you go back. I would never do that.”

Jerome ignored his words. “What did they tell you?”

He shook his head. “Jerome…”

The redhead stared at him, a million conflicting emotions darting across his face. “What’d they tell you?” he repeated, more uncertain this time. Almost like he was afraid of hearing what Arthur would say. 

“Do you want me to say?” Arthur asked slowly, after a pause. He’d barely had time to think about the things the man at the circus had revealed to him, ever since what had happened on the subway had been at the forefront of his thoughts. But now it all came swarming back, and he remembered with a flash of guilt that he did know more than he’d intended to when he’d originally set out.

Jerome drew a shuddering breath, squaring his shoulders. He looked like he was about to be accused of something and was prepared to defend himself, but said nothing. Arthur looked down, unable to meet his eyes that shone with defiance and anger.

“I…I heard what happened to your mother.” he said softly, nearly whispering the words. It felt so harsh, so cold-hearted to be saying such a thing aloud. Bringing up the death of a parent to their own child, who was already upset about something Arthur couldn’t understand, felt like the cruelest thing he’d ever done.

He’d forgotten the contempt with which Jerome had briefly spoken of their mother just the other day. 

The boy said nothing for a long moment, and the tension in the air between them felt heavy enough to cut with a knife. At first, Arthur thought that maybe he wouldn’t say anything at all, but he finally looked up to see Jerome watching him cautiously, his eyes shining with something both obstinate and wary. 

“Did you?” he muttered, twisting his hands together, 

_You’re making things worse. You’re making them so much worse. _

_ Imagine if it were you. If someone told you that your mother was dead. Even if you knew…even if you'd known for a while, imagine that. _

Arthur could _feel _the laughter burning in his throat, and pressed a hand against his mouth to stifle it. But he couldn’t help it, and a broken, choked laugh slipped past his lips, making Jerome look up. 

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…_

“I’m…” he began, but couldn’t speak another word after that. His voice was breathless, the words stilted, and he shook his head helplessly, unable to continue.

Jerome was silent for a moment, then he laughed too, although it sounded more like a sob and his eyes were desperate and frightened. He looked younger, more vulnerable than Arthur had ever seen him.

“It’s not funny.” he whispered, more to himself than to Arthur. The latter looked at him mutely, understanding shining in his eyes, but unable to speak. Jerome glanced at him, then his gaze dropped to the floor. “It isn’t.”

_I know. _

_ I know it’s not funny._

_ It’s never funny._

“I’m sorry.” he managed to say, his voice hushed. Jerome’s sharp gaze darted away from him.

“Why?”

“Because…your mother…”

“I know. _Why _are you sorry?” The boy looked serious again, just as serious as he had been when he’d showed up at the door a few minutes ago, and Arthur again caught a glimpse of his brother in his expression. “You didn’t know her.”

“I’m sorry for you.” he said bluntly, knowing it wasn’t the right thing to say but not knowing how else to phrase it. “For…for losing her.”

“Losing her.” Jerome echoed, almost mockingly. He looked angry again, and frightened, like a trapped wild animal. “You don’t…” He laughed again, desperately, 

“I’m sorry.” Arthur repeated for what felt like the millionth time. It was all he could say. “I shouldn’t have told you. I…I shouldn’t have…”

“You shouldn’t have gone there.” Jerome interrupted. The intensity with which he spoke was completely different from the child Arthur had grown familiar with over the past week. The child that trusted him and seemed to have understood him and…

_And is scared of you now._

_ You messed up._

“I know. And I didn’t want to tell you.” he said quietly, feeling drained. His head was aching, and his eyes stung with exhaustion. “I didn’t…I didn’t really want to know, either.”

“All I wanted was to give you the gun back.” Jerome said slowly, meeting Arthur’s eyes again. “And to tell you that if you hurt my brother, I will kill you.” There was not an ounce of humor in his tone, and Arthur knew it was not a joke at all. Not even an exaggeration. Jerome believed his own words wholeheartedly, and the assurance with which he spoken them sent a cold shiver up the man’s spine. He could practically feel the bonds of trust he’d built up between himself and the twins breaking down, slipping away. And he didn’t know how to get them back. 

Jerome turned away without another word, walking back toward the empty apartment where his twin was sleeping, his light footsteps making no sound at all in the darkened hallway.

Arthur had no choice but to let him go.

\+ + + + + + + +

“Miah, get up.” Jerome kicked his brother unceremoniously in the side from where he was curled up in the blankets on the floor, sleeping soundly. “We’ve got to go.”

Jeremiah opened one eye, wincing from his brother kicking him. “Hmm?” he mumbled, burying his face in one of the blankets. Jerome glared at him impatiently.

“We can’t stay here.” he hissed urgently, and Jeremiah blinked sleepily, still in the early stages of waking up and not processing anything his brother was saying. “We can’t stay, all right? We’ve gotta leave, right now.”

“Why?” he yawned, curling back up and pulling the blanket over his head. Jerome scowled, promptly yanking it off and dragging his brother upright by the arm. Jeremiah fought him off halfheartedly, reaching for the blanket with closed eyes, but Jerome persisted.

“Arthur knows.” He kept his voice low, but there was no mistaking the urgency it held. Jeremiah rubbed his eyes, looking around hazily for his glasses, and Jerome poked his head in his brother’s line of vision, trying to get his attention. “He knows about the circus.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you were being stupid the first day we came here and mentioned it.” 

“No, it’s not that. He actually _went _there. And talked to them.”

Jeremiah’s eyes snapped open at that, and he straightened up, pulling away from Jerome and scrambling to retrieve his glasses before glancing up at his brother. “What?”

“Yeah. He says he knows about mom.” 

The other twin tensed at that, his face growing paler than usual. “He knows?” he whispered breathlessly, a tremor running through his body. Jerome nodded. “Wh-what…how much does he know?”

“He knows she’s dead.” his brother replied tonelessly. “That’s all he told me. But if he knows that…”

“He’ll figure the rest out.” Jeremiah murmured, running a hand through his tangled red curls nervously. “Jerome…”

“That’s why we’ve gotta go. Before he starts asking questions.” Jerome didn’t mention what he’d figured out about the subway, or what his original intent had been when he’d gone to speak with Arthur. This, to him, was much more hazardous to their safety than the killings had been…after all, the two of them were killers themselves, and despite his protective worry for his brother, Arthur’s crimes truly didn’t faze him. Not in the way they should, at least. But the growing terror that the man would discover the truth about their mother’s death, and why they had run away, and everything else about them…_that _was enough for him to make up his mind.

Jeremiah was shaking, still trying to figure out what was going on. “How do you know he knows?” he asked, hanging back as his brother started for the door. He trusted Jerome, but the prospect of leaving the one place he’d finally felt safe—where the _both _of them had felt safe—and venturing back out into the city they’d been warned about by Arthur, didn’t appeal to him. “I mean, about the circus? About us? Did he tell you?”

“I went to talk to him about…something.” Jerome didn’t want to bring up the subject of Arthur being the one who had committed the murders on the subway. He knew his brother most likely subconsciously knew it too, and was repressing it for his own good, trying to retain his trust in their momentary caretaker, but there was no point in voicing his twin’s fears, especially now. Especially when Jerome knew he was tearing down every sense of security that Jeremiah had built up for himself like a shield during the past week of being here. Fortunately, his twin didn’t pry for answers, only listened mutely to his hurried explanation. “And when we were talking, he mentioned the circus, and then he told me he _went _there, and found out about mom, and that means that even if he doesn’t _know, _he can figure it out. So we can’t stay.”

Jeremiah nodded, gaze turning to the boarded-up window of the apartment, the sound of the nighttime city louder than before, and frightening. There was no question that he wanted to stay, and Jerome knew it too, but he couldn’t argue that there was any other option. They had been so intent on not getting caught, and they knew that remaining at the apartment would only make that event inevitable. “Okay.” he whispered, following his brother to the door of the apartment and standing on tiptoe to peek over his shoulder out into the hall, making sure there was no one around. After a moment of breathless silence, Jerome pushed the door open, and they stepped out, taking each other’s hands and starting toward the narrow flight of stairs. The elevator would be too loud, especially at this time of night when the apartments were so quiet, and they couldn’t risk alerting anyone of their escape.

Jeremiah glanced back over his shoulder at the closed door of Arthur’s apartment, his steps slowing for a moment before Jerome tightened his grip on his hand. He turned back to his twin, who shook his head admonishingly.

“Come on.”

The stairs didn’t make a sound as they started down them and disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.

\+ + + + + + + +

He paused outside the door to his apartment, leaning his head against it and shutting his eyes for a moment. The night had been exhausting, although it had been something he’d been looking forward to for as long as he could remember. Stand-up comedy had always been a dream of his, and although he knew he’d definitely botched the first few jokes (but that was something he preferred to not think about), the rest had been a blur of lightheaded giddiness at the prospect that he was actually doing it, actually becoming who his mother had always said he would be.

_Bringing laughter to the world._

He smiled faintly, wishing his mind wasn’t weighed down by the crushing guilt he’d been carrying around all day.

Memories of the night before, and how he’d practically seen Jerome’s trust in him fall apart irrevocably. 

He’d been tempted to check on them in the morning, to see if he could find some sort of way to convince Jerome—and Jeremiah, as his brother had probably told him all about the conversation last night—that he could be trusted, that he would protect them. But he’d been too nervous, and had left them alone, not even daring to stop by the vacant apartment and tell them he was leaving for the day. It hadn’t crossed his mind that they would go anywhere…not after they knew how dangerous the city was, especially for two children who weren’t even from there, and he’d simply told himself he was giving them time to think, time to process what had happened before he came back.

But it had left a gaping hole of emptiness in his chest that had been on his mind even during the comedy routine. 

_You should check on them, _the voice in his head whispered warningly, but Arthur ignored it. He was just being paranoid, overeager to make amends, when he should be giving them space. If they were wary of him now, it would only do more harm than good to try and talk to them.

He threw a uncertain glance at the closed door of the empty apartment, straining his ears to hear any sound of children talking, but there was only silence. Well, it was possible they were already asleep…it was nearly nighttime already, and it wasn’t like they had much else to do, cooped up in there all alone.

Arthur sighed, promising himself that he would check on them later, and opened the door to his own apartment, stepping inside.

The faint droning of audience laughter and applause came from the old television, and tinny music from the program that was just finishing—Murray Franklin, like always. Arthur bent down to switch it off, before turning to his mother, who had dozed off in the armchair in the corner of the room. His eyes traveled to a letter sitting on the side table, the address written on the front jarringly familiar.

He’d sent a million other letters just like it, nearly every day. Each one to the same place, the same name, and most likely, the same contents. He wasn’t sure on the last count, as he’d never read any of them, but there was always a faint spark of curiosity in him when he placed them unfailingly in the mailbox (knowing full well there would be no answer, and there never was, but that didn’t stop his mother).

She’d mentioned one or two vague things before. How she used to work for the man, how he would send them money if only he knew the conditions they were living in, how she was certain he wasn’t reading those letters only because they hadn’t reached him properly, not because he was ignoring them, because he would never ignore them, why should he?  
Arthur reached out, one hand ghosting over the surface of the envelope, his curiosity growing stronger. 

_What could be so important that she would write to him nearly every day? _

He turned back to his mother, deciding that this time he would read the letter once she was out of the room, and would finally learn exactly what she wanted from Thomas Wayne, Gotham’s local and only billionaire. 

\+ + + + + + +

“Hey. Hey, Miah.” Jerome poked his brother in the arm, inching closer to him from where they were huddled in the corner of an alleyway, the frozen winter wind howling outside the high brick walls mournfully. “You awake, broski?”

Jeremiah was shivering uncontrollably, practically blue from the cold, but he managed a drowsy nod, eyes beginning to fall shut. “Yeah…”

“Miah.” Jerome turned to face him, taking hold of his shoulders and giving him a shake. “It ain’t naptime, okay? We’re not stayin’ the night. Just resting for a bit.” Neither of them had liked the idea of stopping in an alley just as the sun was beginning to set behind the city skyline, but it had been so cold that their limbs had gone numb and weariness had set in so quickly that they practically couldn’t take another step, so it had been the only option. However, Jerome had no intention of waiting around in this particular place any longer than they needed to, despite the fact that it would only continue to get more freezing and darker when they ventured out again. "We're just resting, then we've gotta go."

“I know, but ’s just cold.” Jeremiah murmured, burying his face in his brother’s shoulder. “Y’think it’s gonna snow?”

Jerome looked up at the sky worriedly, entire body aching from how tense he was to keep from shivering. “Maybe.”

“Hope it does.” his twin mumbled, his small frame going slack as his eyes closed. “Snow’s pretty.”

“Yeah, but we don’t want it to snow right now.” Jerome shoved him upright, clenching his jaw to try and keep his words steady, even as the cold numbed his senses and made it increasingly difficult for him to keep his thoughts straight. He didn’t get cold as easily as his brother did, but the temperature was well below freezing at the moment, and the warmest article of clothing that either of them were wearing were their threadbare cardigan sweaters. “We gotta get to the next subway stop and find a way to get on.” He’d originally planned that they go straight to the station they’d been at the night before while waiting for Arthur, but then had reconsidered when he realized the man, if he noticed they were gone, would likely search that area first. So they had started out in the opposite direction, fully convinced that their plan was foolproof (and having forgotten about the inhumanly freezing weather outside) and intent on making it out of the city by the next day. 

Jeremiah had suggested that they only take the subway to one stop, since it would be easier to track them down if they continued on it the entire way out of the city, and Jerome agreed. Lost in their paranoia, they were convinced that they were being followed, not only by Arthur but by the people at the circus as well. And creating the most elaborate, hard-to-follow escape plan seemed to be the only way out. In any other circumstance, they would have both considered it to be a foolishly complicated one, but at the moment it seemed to be the only reasonable option.

At the moment, however, they were having a difficult time finding another subway stop, despite having followed the signs on the map Jerome had stolen from a news stand. The map was currently being used as a blanket between them, and neither had the faintest idea how far or close they were to their destination. Besides, they still had to find a pickpocketing target for money, and so far had been unsuccessful in that department. 

“Jerome?” His twin’s voice was small, tinged with drowsiness. A shot of worry rushed through Jerome, and he wrapped both arms around Jeremiah, who leaned into him, closing his eyes again.

“What?” 

“‘m so cold.” 

“I know.” He scowled at the wall of the alley opposite them, his momentary anger at the situation breaking through his frozen state for a moment. If Arthur had just minded his own business and hadn’t forced them out of that place from asking too many questions…Jerome narrowed his eyes. It wasn’t fair. “We should try to find the station, broski.”

“I don’t wanna get up.” 

“You don’t want to freeze into an ice cube, do ya?” Jerome tried to keep his tone light, but his voice shook and Jeremiah opened his eyes slowly, looking up at his brother with a confused expression.

“What’s the matter?” His voice was hoarse, breathless, and Jerome moved in closer to him. 

“Nothin’. It’s okay.”

Neither of them spoke, only listened to the sound of traffic on the streets outside the alley, the rise and fall of voices from the people walking by, and the occasional police siren that rose in the distance. The wind had picked up, and loose pieces of crumpled paper and trash spiraled across the alley floor.

“Hey.” A sharp voice broke through the silence and both twins jumped, turning to face the entrance of the alley, where several figures stood, silhouetted in the dim light of the street lamps. “You know this is our turf, right?”

Jerome tensed, straightening up as best he could despite the painful numbness in his arms and legs, and staring at the group of older boys who had gathered at the alley entrance, watching them. They looked to be in their late teens, tough and unsmiling, and Jerome bit his lip worriedly. Beside him, Jeremiah shrank back, looking like he wanted to disappear.

“Didja hear me?” the boy continued, striding closer to them, the others not far behind. Jerome swallowed hard, hoping his unease wouldn’t be apparent to them.

“Sorry.” he grinned, a show of bravado that he knew they would see through in a heartbeat. Still, it was better than looking outright scared. “We didn’t know.”

“Oh yeah?” He grinned back, not friendly at all. Jerome noticed a set of brass knuckles gleaming on his hand as he clenched it into a fist. “You shoulda known.”

Jerome shrugged, keeping up the nonchalant charade. “Well, I didn’t.”

“Jerome.” his twin hissed warningly, peering around him at the group of boys staring down at them. His eyes were wide and alert behind his glasses, and although Jerome was growing increasingly worried at the situation, he was at least glad his brother wasn’t drifting off like he had been just moments before. “Jerome, stop.”

“Gotta admit, I like your style, kid.” The newcomer crouched down to their level, still grinning, but his gaze was hard and unyielding. “But if you’re smart, you’ll get outta here before you regret it.”

“Mhm.” Jerome couldn’t help the mocking expression that appeared on his face. Part of him, the rational part that valued self-preservation, knew he should be leaving and not causing trouble. There was no way he could hold his own against these boys, not even with his brother’s help…they were outnumbered by at least four, and had no sort of weapons whatsoever. Besides, Jeremiah was anything but a fighter…even back at the circus, he’d do anything to avoid any sort of scuffle. He’d submitted to the all-too-frequent beatings from their mother and uncle without protest, knowing any sort of argument would make things worse for himself.

But Jerome had never been like that.

“Oh, there’s two of ‘em.” one of the other boys spoke up, nodding toward Jeremiah, who stared back, frozen in place light a frightened deer in the headlights. “Lookit that. You ever seen identical twins before?” He turned back to the others, eyebrows raised.

“No, and if they don’t get outta here, neither will anyone else around here. Y’know why?” The first boy, the one who had started the conversation, leered at both redheads. “Cause you’ll be _dead.”_

Jerome narrowed his eyes. “Not before I break your kneecaps and feed ‘em to ya through your nose.” 

The boy laughed. “Hear that? He’s threatening me!” He inched closer until his face was in arm’s reach, a grin stretching across his face again. “I’m almost curious, short stack. Do you really believe yourself?”

“Why d’you ask, you want me to prove it to you?” Jerome tilted his head, and Jeremiah twisted his hands into the sleeve of his brother’s sweater, trembling not just from the cold anymore, but from terror as unwanted memories came rushing back.

“Stop it, Jerome.” he whispered, and his twin glanced back impatiently.

“He’s scared of me, Miah.” The laughter that caught in his words was almost delirious. “You see that? He’s really scared of me.”

“You’re gonna get—”

“I ain’t scared, kid.” the boy snarled, leaning even closer. Both hands were curled into fists now, and the others with him had circled the twins so there was no way for them to back out of the alley. Jeremiah stared at them silently, on the verge of tears, but Jerome was smiling widely, tensed like a cat ready to attack its prey. 

“Oh, yeah?” His blue eyes were alight with something more than fear, and when Jeremiah glanced over at him, he saw the same expression that had been on his brother’s face that night in their trailer at the circus as they’d stood surrounded by blood, the axe on the floor between them. “Then why dontcha just—”

He was cut off as the older boy’s arm shot out and latched onto the front of his sweater, dragging him closer, and Jerome struggled in his grip, trying to disentangle himself. Before he could get free, his head snapped back as he was met with a punch to the face. He fell back against the alley wall with a breathless gasp, seeing stars as the numbness from the blow gave way to a sharp, shattering pain. One hand reached up shakily to ghost across his cheekbone, and came away dripping with blood. The older boy raised his eyebrows unapologetically, his hand with the brass knuckles still clenched into a raised fist.

“Jerome!” He heard his brother cry his name, horrified, and blinked, trying to focus his gaze. Everything was too hazy, and his face stung like it had been burned with a hot poker, and he couldn’t think. Couldn’t even reassure his twin that he was all right.

_Are you?_

“Okay, it’s your turn!” The older boy straightened up, staring expectantly down at Jerome, who hadn’t moved from his crumpled position on the ground. “You’d better hold to your word, or I’m gonna be very disappointed.”

_C’mon, get up, get up, don’t prove him right. _Jerome shook his head slowly, his eyesight still too blurry to make out any of the figures around him. _You said you were gonna beat him, so you'd better…_

“Stop…stop it!” Faintly, he could hear Jeremiah pleading with the others, and his gaze focused just as he saw the boy reaching down again to drag him up, only for another mind-numbing burst of pain to spread across his jaw. He gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out, but his vision went black for a moment and this time, when he fell back from the strength of the blow, he couldn’t look up again.

_You’re letting him win…_

“Yeah, real tough, aren’t you.” They were laughing at him now, and that was more humiliating than getting beaten, and Jerome forced his eyes open, sending a venomous glare in the boy’s direction just as another aimed a kick at his ribs and the breath was knocked out of him. “Gotta say, I’m disappointed.”

“Leave him alone!” Jerome could hear his brother was panicking, on the verge of breaking down completely, and tried to speak, tried to reassure him that he was okay, he was going to be okay, and didn’t he remember how much worst it had been at the circus, in any case? But he couldn’t, he could only breathe in sharply before choking on the blood he hadn’t realized was filling his mouth. Trying to catch his breath, he leaned back against the wall, and stared up at the others surrounding them, one of them holding his brother back as Jeremiah struggled helplessly in his grasp. Jerome’s eyes narrowed at that.

“Let him go.” he rasped, spitting out more blood. The first boy raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah?” He lowered his voice as he bent down again, hands on his knees, and smiled. “Don't think so. I told you, you’re on our turf.” Jerome glared at him. “If you’d’ve just gotten outta here when we asked nicely, you wouldn’t be in this mess. But now you’ve gotta learn.”

“I don’t care.” Jerome laughed despite himself, not because he thought it was funny, but because it was better than crying in front of his attackers. “I’ve had worse than you.”

Displeasure darkened the boy’s face, and he sighed. “Still won’t learn, will you?” He shook his head mockingly. “Fine. I’ll leave you alone.” Jerome didn’t move, watching him warily. The boy’s smile grew into a grin again. “Hope ya don’t mind your brother gettin’ your share.” He turned to his friend, who kept a tight grip on Jeremiah’s shoulders, and the former shoved the redhead forward, a bored expression on his face.

Jerome froze in horror. “No, wait—”

He squeezed his eyes shut as his twin cried out, doubling over from a punch to the stomach. The first boy, the one with the brass knuckles, looked from one to the other, satisfaction in his smile.

“They say to hit where it hurts.” he commented to Jerome, reaching out to drag Jeremiah closer to him, and the younger boy stumbled, still dazed from the hit. “And it looks like I found your weak spot.”

He couldn’t look up, couldn’t meet his twin’s stare. “Don’t…”

“Think this’ll teach ya?” Jerome flinched when he heard the sound of his brother’s glasses breaking, and his choked cry as a punch landed on the side of his face. Jeremiah sagged against the older boy, on the edge of unconsciousness from the sheer force of the blow, but the former didn’t seem to care. “Or this?” He shoved him to the ground, delivering kick after kick to his small form, and Jeremiah curled up on the alley floor, trying to shield his face with his hands.

Jerome couldn’t speak, no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t form even a single word to tell them to stop, that they had won, that he and Jeremiah would leave and not ever come back again…it felt like a crushing weight was laying on his chest and he couldn’t gather the breath to say anything aloud. 

_Stop…please, please, please stop it, leave him alone…_

“You two ain’t from around here, are ya?” Another one of the boys spoke up, lounging against the wall of the alley as he lazily lit the cigarette that dangled from his lips. “You’d know better if you were. This is Gotham, and we don’t appreciate some little know-it-alls tryin’ to be somethin’ big and important when you don’t even know what you’re getting into. If you’re out on these streets, you gotta find your own place.”

The first boy reached down to haul Jeremiah upright again, and the younger bit at his arm, one hand groping upward to scratch his attacker’s face. The thug yelped in surprise, then his glare doubled in its intensity and swung his fist back, brass knuckles glinting in the faint light from the street. Before he could land the punch, however, Jerome had staggered to his feet and latched both hands around his wrist, using all his body weight to drag the other backward. The boy lost his footing and fell on his back, his head slamming against the concrete ground as the wind was knocked out of him. Before he’d fallen, though, he’d twisted around and flung Jerome off of him, and the redhead fell back again, the force of the movement and exhaustion both keeping him from staying on his feet.

For a moment, the older boy didn’t look like he would get up, and his companions didn’t move. But then he stirred, mere milliseconds later, and scrambled upright again, turning his now-unfocused glare on each other twins in turn. Jeremiah backed away from him shakily, looking ready to keel over at any second, and the boy went for him, the punch he threw at the other’s face landing so hard that Jeremiah’s back and head hit the wall with enough force to knock him unconscious. He slumped to the ground, opposite his brother, and the thugs stood over them, staring down without any semblance of pity in their eyes.

“Like he said,” the first boy spoke up in the silence, nodding to his friend with the cigarette, “this is Gotham. And you’d better learn that quick if you wanna survive around here.” He narrowed his eyes. “If I see you around here again and you mouth off or try somethin’ funny, you’ll get the same treatment, but worse next time.” 

They started off, their voices and the sound of their footsteps fading into the noise of the city as they disappeared out of the alley. Jerome, clinging onto the final threads of consciousness he possessed, gathered up enough strength to push himself upright, bracing himself with shaking arms. He blinked slowly, trying to focus, and swallowed a mouthful of blood before crawling across the alley floor and collapsing next to his brother, one hand hovering helplessly over the other's battered face as he tried to gather his thoughts and figure out what to do.

“Miah?” he whispered, voice breaking in the silence. He pressed a hand to the side of his own face before drawing it away with a hiss of pain, staring with blurred vision at the blood now staining his palm. His head was hurting worse than he could ever remember, and his thoughts were going in and out like a radio with static. “Miah, c’mon.” Every word sent a fresh wave of pain coursing through his body, but he tried to remind himself of worse beatings he’d endured at the circus. Times when he himself hadn’t thought he’d be able to get up again. There _had _been worse times, and that meant he’d be able to fix this, and things were going to be okay.

He was _sure _there had been worse times. 

But before now, there had always been some place to go. The old blind fortune teller would always take them in when their mother locked them out of the trailer, or they’d hide in the giant big top tent where the bright lights and colors would always cheer them up after a particularly rough beating…wherever it was, they always had _somewhere _to go. Somewhere that wasn’t an ice-coated alleyway in the middle of a city they didn’t know, with people who didn’t need a reason to try and kill them if they didn’t obey…

Jerome held back a sob, suddenly feeling very helpless.

He turned back to his brother, using the last burst of strength to gather him up into his arms and lean his head against his collarbone. His head was spinning whenever he opened his eyes, and although he’d promised himself he wouldn’t fall asleep, not when it was so deathly cold, he could feel his mind drifting off. This time, he didn’t fight it, and within moments, either sleep or unconsciousness had overtaken him as time and place became meaningless in the darkness.

\+ + + + + + + +

Arthur felt like his head was going to explode, and his hands shook so badly when he lit his cigarette that he almost dropped it on the floor. The letter to Thomas Wayne sat on the table in front of him, words glaring up accusingly, as if it was evidence convicting him of some hideous crime.

_Your son._

_ Your son, your son, your son…_

He didn’t know what to think. His mother told him it was disgraceful, and he should never speak of it. Or else their reputation would be destroyed. Arthur had wanted to laugh at that—_what reputation, mom? Who around here gives a shit about either of us?_—but he hadn’t said that aloud. He was too overwhelmed by the truth to think of anything to say.

He had been sitting in silence for the past two hours, staring at the paper and unable to formulate even a single coherent thought, but finally, he got to his feet shakily, running both hands through his hair and trying to steady his ragged breathing. 

He had to do something, go somewhere, get out of the apartment so he could get his mind off of this for awhile, at least until he was able to think about it without bursting into pained laughter. 

_Go talk to them._

Yes. He would do that. He hadn’t gone to see the twins at all that day, his plans for doing so brushed aside when he’d read the letter and confronted his mother about it. But he remembered again, all in a rush, the conversation he’d had with Jerome last night.

He shot a look at the letter, then turned his back on it cautiously as if it was a predator animal and stepped out of the apartment into the hall.

Nervousness gripped him, but it was better than the overwhelmed confusion he’d been trying to grasp for the past several hours. Anything was better than that. He drew a deep breath as he paused outside the door of the vacant apartment, tapping on it lightly before opening it the smallest amount and peering inside.

The room was dark, and he couldn’t spot even a bit of movement in the dim light.

Arthur frowned.

_Maybe they’re already asleep._

But no, the pile of blankets on the floor was abandoned, and the only thing that moved at all was the occasional shadow that flitted across the wall.

_No._

His hand tightened on the door handle.

_No, no, no…_

His lungs felt constricted, panic setting in as he realized what had happened. Realized that, if he hadn’t delayed checking on them, he could have prevented it. 

Realized that this was his fault, _your fault, how could you have let this happen…_

Arthur shuddered, accusations flying through his thoughts like gunshots. He could have stopped this. He could have stopped _them._

But he hadn’t, and the apartment was empty, and the twins were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's kind of Jerome-centric as far as POV goes, but there'll also be parts where it's more of Jeremiah's POV later on, so don't worry Miah fans!
> 
> Let me know what you think! Thank you so much for reading :D


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